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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455813">Reverse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMoonglow_FF/pseuds/LadyMoonglow_FF'>LadyMoonglow_FF</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Hermione Granger, Drama, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, HP-World Cameos Abound, Light in the darkness, Multi, Other, Romance, Snape Is A Glorious Bastard Per Usual, Spy Hermione Granger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:00:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>213,765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMoonglow_FF/pseuds/LadyMoonglow_FF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>During the final battle, Hermione is unexpectedly swept headfirst into a dystopian world of opposites where Dumbledore rules as Dark Lord and Muggle technology and the Dark Arts have revolutionized Britain. </p><p>Light wizards who attempted resistance under Tom Riddle and the Malfoys' leadership have been left to a nightmarish fate, giving Hermione a new cause - and very different allies - as she impersonates her own 'reversed' incarnation, an elite beauty queen called "My," to survive. But can she help save another shattered world... and still get back to her own?</p><p>HG/DM, more pairings TBA, HBP friendly.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, others TBA</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>343</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>375</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Some of you may recognize this story, as it has been posted, unfinished, on another site for quite some time. I am finally able to return to it, and have decided to cross-post it on Archive of Our Own for any readers here who have not had the pleasure of reading it elsewhere, while I do superficial edits/updates on each chapter leading to my new content. </p><p>*IMPORTANT NOTE BEFORE YOU START: </p><p>This story is a strange canon/AU hybrid that does its best to stick to details from the original books. However, I sketched out the outline before Book 7 was published, so the facts inside it only follow canon directly up until and including Book 6. After HBP, it is partially AU. Much of the Horcruxes/storyline/details from Deathly Hallows will be included, but the "final battle," the ultimate fate of some of the characters, Hermione having a rucksack rather than a small purse, and a few other scenes are different (for the purposes of this story, the final battle was NOT the Battle of Hogwarts).</p><p>The Prologue takes place a year and a half after HBP occurred, and the final battle six months after it did in canon.</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you may even remotely recognize.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>REVERSE</strong>
</p>
<p>Prologue: The Final Battle [Canon Universe*]</p>
<p>It came in flashes.</p>
<p>Thunder.</p>
<p>Rain. Blinding, frigid rain.</p>
<p>Debilitating wind, so strong it almost blew even Hagrid over.</p>
<p>Screams; wails of pain; spine tingling laughs of delight; shouts; moans.</p>
<p>Hardly any light save the typically fatal, multicolored crisscross beams of wandfire, and the occasional spark of lightning that illuminated the most haunting vista Hermione had ever seen:</p>
<p>A field. Quite likely it had been only an ordinary field outside a bucolic town until that night.</p>
<p>And bodies were everywhere.</p>
<p>Some were recognizable, wearing the faces of both friends and foes.</p>
<p>Many were not.</p>
<p>Old enmities emerged the minute Ron saw the back of Draco Malfoy's unmistakable blond head across the battlefield, an Order member down at the end of his wand, and, presumably, a dark curse. It was supposed to be 'a cinch,' Ron told her with a sloppy grin - his most endearing smile, though she'd never admit it - and then became serious again, urging her and Harry on while he dealt with the ferret who had betrayed Dumbledore and the Light the year before.</p>
<p>Ron never came back.</p>
<p>At least, not before the duel to decide them all began, and whether he came back afterward Hermione would never know. All she did know was that in one moment Harry was beside her, and in the next moment he wasn't, and Voldemort's red eyes, far too close for comfort, were unmistakable in the near darkness.</p>
<p>Hermione was so busy fighting for her life that she missed most of it. A Stunning spell grazed her shoulder; clutching her rucksack, she flew halfway across the field, but it was mild enough that she was able to whip around in time to send a Reductor squarely into her assailant's chest, visible in a flash of lightning. In the same breath, she shouted a Confounding charm toward a Death Eater who was nearly on top of Remus Lupin –</p>
<p>
  <em>"Expelliarmus!" - "Avada kedavra!" </em>
</p>
<p>They were only three words, shouted simultaneously and carried on the wind, but every person on the battlefield, Hermione included, froze the second they were uttered.</p>
<p>For a moment, neither Death Eater nor Order member breathed.</p>
<p>Abruptly, another burst of lightening exploded, revealing that Harry was upright. Granted, he was on his knees, but he was still alive.</p>
<p>Voldemort was not.</p>
<p>The lightning faded and the scene again plunged into darkness. Stunned into paralysis, Hermione stood, mouth partially agape. Was it over? Had they won?</p>
<p>
  <em>Harry had still been standing. Voldemort was not.</em>
</p>
<p>From the sudden silence exploded shrieks of joy mingled with those of panic and a cacophony of loud <em>cracks</em>, as if witches and wizards were Apparating away in droves.</p>
<p>Sweet Merlin, it <em>was</em> over!</p>
<p>"HARRY!" she shrieked, her soaked hand pumping the otherwise useless rucksack into the air. An indescribable wave of triumph and relief rushed over her, so powerful that she almost fell to her knees. She blindly stumbled forward in the darkness in a desperate desire to get to her best friend, to sweep him into her arms, to victoriously scream to heaven and hell and to anyone who was listening that it was <em>finally finished -</em></p>
<p>But her words were drowned out in the thunder and jubilant yells that followed… as was the incantation behind the sparkling stream of blinding white light that cut through the night like a sunbeam.</p>
<p>Before Hermione could comprehend what was happening, the light had cleanly penetrated her abdomen with an almost inhuman scream – or was it her own? – and an excruciating explosion of agony worse than the Cruciatus Curse, as if her body itself was being ripped apart.</p>
<p>And then… light. Beautiful, invigorating light, and a tingling at the tips of her fingers that triggered a nearly overwhelming wave of relief.</p>
<p>Thank the gods, she had not died.</p>
<p>But, as Hermione was soon to discover, that was the moment when the real darkness began.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Different World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>A Different World</strong>
</p><p>Hermione's head throbbed, as if a Quidditch Beater had set upon it with a club like a Bludger. Her eyelids refused to move, and she felt oddly detached from her body, as if her brain had lost all control over every muscle in her limbs. Despite this, she couldn't stop shaking; no, correction, <em>she</em> didn't seem to be trembling so much as her surroundings…</p><p>Wincing, Hermione furrowed her brow, distinguishing the sensation. She was laying flat, and whatever was beneath her was rumbling loudly, the train-like sound causing her to vibrate with it. She would have guessed that she actually <em>was</em> on a train were it not for the absurdity of the idea. How would she have gotten from a remote field to a train compartment?</p><p>"My?" Unexpectedly, someone grabbed her shoulder and shook it. Sharp pain shot through her head, and she bit her lip hard to restrain a gasp. "You all there, pet? My-y…"</p><p><em>'Your' what? </em>she thought vexedly, but had neither the energy nor the desire to demand an answer or open her eyes. Bugger, her head was killing her…</p><p>"My. Oi, Harry, d'you think she's breathing?"</p><p>
  <em>If it's me who you're referring to, then of course I am, you idiot.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wait, is that Ron? And… Harry! </em>
</p><p>Forcing her eyes open, Hermione lurched forward. "Harry!"</p><p>Her two best friends jumped slightly at what must have been, to them, a rather sudden motion on her part. Harry - and Ron - were hovering directly overhead. Both of them. Alive.</p><p>Images flashed through her memory: of the battle, the deaths, the lightning, and Voldemort... Voldemort dying.</p><p>Voldemort was <em>dead. </em></p><p>And all three of them - they had made it!</p><p>She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Her subconscious settled for both: Tears sprung to her eyes, a tired but beaming smile threatening to explode across her face. "Thank Merlin and all the ghosts," she breathed, hauling herself to a seated position and throwing her arms around Harry and Ron as tightly as she could. "I didn't think we'd-"</p><p>Abruptly, she was roughly pushed backward.</p><p>"Don't <em>touch</em> me," growled a voice that inexplicably sounded an awful lot like Harry's.</p><p>Simultaneously, Ron also disentangled himself from her with an expression that could only be described a sneer. "Right - Alright - <em>Alright</em> pet, don't let your makeup run; we get the picture." He looked over her head to Harry and rolled his eyes. "Her Majesty obviously hit her head too hard."</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Her Majesty?</em> </strong>
</p><p>Hermione's smile froze. Throbbing again exploded through her skull.</p><p>
  <em>What in the name of Godric's sword…?</em>
</p><p>It occurred to her then that the two of them looked nothing like how she'd last seen them. They were both strangely clean. And well-dressed. Harry, bizarrely, wasn't wearing his glasses, and Ron's - she squinted to make sure she wasn't seeing things - Merlin's beard, Ron's hair was <em>slicked back, </em>like Draco Malfoy's hair had always been once upon a time.</p><p>In the distance, a low-pitched whistle screamed.</p><p>Great Godric, they <em>were</em> on a train.</p><p>She swiftly shifted her gaze from Ron to her surroundings. The spacious, extravagant Head Boy/Girl compartment of the Hogwarts Express – or, from her current perspective, the floor of it - surrounded her. Rather than embodying the principles of wartime rationing or the austerity of Voldemort's puppet Ministry, it was fully decorated in rich reds, elegant golds, and beautifully polished accent tables topped with exquisite silver trays that were filled with what could only be described as simply beautiful finger food and bottles of brand-name alcohol she vaguely recognized as being extremely expensive.</p><p>Trying not to appear as confused as she felt, Hermione glanced at Ron, whose face held an expression of distinct annoyance. With no move to help her, he sat back on the plush train bench and haughtily straightened his robes. Harry gave her another dark expression and lifted himself onto the bench across from them with a very atypical sort of imperial regality about his movements. Ginny, nonchalantly sitting beside him, looked just as off, staring half-interestedly at polished red nails.</p><p>As if the final battle had never happened.</p><p>But it <em>had</em> just happened! They had all been there!</p><p>... hadn't they?</p><p>"Wait a minute," she said slowly, gingerly helping herself up onto the open seat beside Ron. "What's going on?"</p><p>Harry leaned back and ran his hand through his hair, a motion he usually avoided because he said it reminded him of his father's arrogance. His lack of spectacles surprisingly altered his appearance staggeringly. "Seems that taking a bit of a spill's turned you into an uncharacteristically grateful bint," he said acerbically.</p><p>There was no mistaking the malice in his voice now.</p><p>Hermione's lips parted in shock. "A bit of a spill," she echoed in disbelief.</p><p>Ginny nodded her agreement in a very unconcerned manner for someone who had just witnessed a friend "take a spill."</p><p>"I'm not referring to why I was on the floor, although yes, I'd be quite curious to hear your answer for that, too," Hermione said, "I mean, why are we on the Hogwarts Express? What happened with Voldemort; with -<em> everything?"</em></p><p>Beside her, Ron made a terribly rude noise rather than his usual squeak at Voldemort's name. "What are you going on about now, pet?"</p><p>Irritation and anger abruptly surged through her, sending another wave of pain through her skull. If this was some sort of a - a twisted joke, an 'oh, let's all celebrate the end of the war with a laugh on Hermione!', it was in <em>extremely</em> poor taste!</p><p>"I swear on Merlin's beard, <em>Ron</em>ald, if you call me by that - that perfectly horrid name again, you'll regret it faster than you can say Hungarian Horntail!" she snapped. "Honestly - <em>'Pet?' </em>"</p><p>He sighed audibly, looking bored. "Oh, don't be a such a <em>lowe, </em>bitty. You certainly weren't complaining about it last night."</p><p>Though Hermione had no idea what 'being a lowe' meant to imply, from the way he had said it, it certainly didn't seem to be positive. " 'Bitty,' now, is it? How very chauvinistic of you."</p><p>He burst out laughing. "Chauvinistic?" he choked out between guffaws. "T-That's - That's a big word for you, pet. Sure you-" <em>gasp -</em> "know what it means?"</p><p>Hermione stared at him in astonishment.</p><p>A chill crept down her back and into the very depths of her bones.</p><p>Instinctively, she reached toward her jeans pocket for her wand, but her fingers connected with with soft, non-denim material. Quickly, she looked down.</p><p>It was a skirt. She was wearing a Hogwarts uniform.</p><p>In the pit of her stomach, panic, dark and insidious, began to churn.</p><p>Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Not even the twins possessed so warped a sense of humor - not now, during the peak of the war. There was no conceivable way this was a joke taken too far.</p><p>Could she be… dead? Dying? Was this some sort of 'life flashing before one's eyes' phenomenon she was experiencing before she died?</p><p>But... No, Ron had never acted like this before, so that couldn't be it…</p><p>The wheels of her mind frantically spinning, she ignored a chuckling Ron and desperately looked back at Harry, hoping against hope that he could provide some sort of logical explanation for - for the complete <em>irrationality</em> of the entire situation. He was still sprawled casually against the backrest of the lounge-like seat, but he was staring out the window rather than at either of them.</p><p><em>"Harry," </em>she said pleadingly.</p><p>He started, then looked at her, the gleam in his green eyes peculiarly… empty.</p><p>"What happened with what?" he finally asked, sounding utterly disinterested.</p><p>Hermione frowned, wondering why on earth this needed repeating. "With… Voldemort."</p><p>He cocked his head slightly to the right, studying her with an uncharacteristic, almost predatory shrewdness in his clouded gaze. "Volda... what?"</p><p>"She's talking gobbledygook as per usual; fall must've made it worse," Ron said none too quietly.</p><p><em>As per </em><strong><em>usual? </em></strong>Hermione thought in disbelief.</p><p>Harry regarded Ron emotionlessly before shrugging and turning his gaze toward the countryside, again shoving his thick mop of hair up off his forehead.</p><p>She froze.</p><p>For one of the very few times in her life, pure shock, and not a single thought, passed through Hermione Granger's mind.</p><p>The skin above Harry's brows was glaringly smooth. Blank.</p><p>Scarless.</p><hr/><p>He didn't know. <em>Harry Potter</em> didn't know - or didn't remember - the name of the man who had single-handedly destroyed so much of his life. Not only that: <em>His scar was gone. </em></p><p>Hermione's temples throbbed. Hot pain burned at the back of her skull like wildfire. This couldn't be a simple nightmare; the pain she was physically experiencing was too real.</p><p>Systematically, she began to run through other possible explanations: Harry had amnesia, Harry's memory had been wiped - but no, neither would explain why they were on the train, or why his scar was missing…</p><p>Wracking her brain, she tried to remember exactly what had happened in the final moments she'd been on the battlefield. The white light had struck her, that much she recalled quite clearly, and it had obviously triggered the horrible experience that had followed. The Light Arts didn't elicit that sort of pain, so it must have been a form of Dark Magic, but in all her studies, Hermione couldn't recall a single curse, hex or jinx that embodied pure white light - and so bloody much of it - <em>and</em> produced this result.</p><p>She frenetically forced herself to calm her now-audible breaths lest they give her away. The curse that had hit her must have transferred her into a - a surreal mental state, that was it, most likely on account of -</p><p>A red handkerchief waving directly in front of her nose rudely interrupted her analysis. Hermione jerked backward, then glared at Ron, who was holding it out with his pointer finger and thumb like she was a small child with chocolate spread across her hands that he didn't want to get on his own if or when she took it.</p><p>"What?" she snapped suspiciously.</p><p>He gave her an exasperated expression. "You look awful, pet. Come on - here. Clean up before you make a spectacle of yourself; you never know when the press'll be around. You know how I feel about public appearances."</p><p>She stared at it blankly, then at him. "What am I supposed to do with that, Ronald, mop up my oh-so-plentiful mascara?" she asked sarcastically.</p><p>When he stared at her in with an expression of "Well, obviously," she snatched the kerchief from his hand and threw it in his lap, turning away from him with a huff.</p><p>"Bloody hell, My! Throwing another wobbly again so soon? Really?"</p><p>Ginny's head snapped up. "Oh, stop your whinging, Ro<em>náld,</em> you're being bloody obnoxious and she knows it, too. No one can be perfect at every hour of every moment of every day - not even you, brother dearest."</p><p>"Just because you're a cock-up doesn't mean we all are."</p><p>Hermione risked a subtle glance in their direction, studying them both carefully. <em>All right, Ginny and Ron arguing; this is normal.</em></p><p>Ginny actually started cackling. <em>"I'm</em> a cock-up? Who single-handedly lost us the Quidditch Cup last year?"</p><p>
  <em>Wait a minute… Did Ginny just call Ron 'Ro<strong>náld?'</strong></em>
</p><p>Ron scowled. "I didn't see you helping any."</p><p>"Well then, apparently you didn't see anything; you clearly missed the fourteen times Lady K sent the quaffle flying right past your head. You should be thanking the bloody hosts she got recruited this year."</p><p>"At least I haven't shown my knockers to every bloke in Hogwarts who's looked twice at me," he sneered.</p><p>The youngest Weasley smirked a very Ginny-like smirk, but an unnaturally cruel gleam shone in her eyes. As she tossed her long hair over her shoulder, looking haughtily down her nose her brother, Hermione abruptly realized what was off about her: her hair was <em>highlighted black</em>.</p><p>"At least I haven't <em>pathetically</em> lost a duel to a wandless fusty," Ginny sneered back. <em>"Twice."</em></p><p>For a moment, silence filled the compartment.</p><p>Ron gave his sister a filthy glare. "If that ever leaves this compartment, sister, I will kill you," he said in a low voice.</p><p>He sounded more deadly serious than Hermione had ever heard him. Surreal state or not, she had no idea whether she could still be affected by other spellcasters, and she certainly wasn't about to be caught unprepared if the situation escalated. She began inching toward the compartment door while surreptitiously searching for her wand, hoping she appeared as though she was doing neither.</p><p>Ginny let out an entirely unconcerned laugh. "Doubtful. Unlike you, I actually know how to use a wand."</p><p>"You little -"</p><p>Ron had hardly lifted his wand before Ginny's hazel one was leveled directly at his face. Hermione's hand froze halfway into the pocket of her robes. "No you don't. Stand down, brother."</p><p>Slowly, Ron lifted his hand from his wand, glaring daggers at her.</p><p>She shook her head, still chortling. "Better work on that draw, or our precious little House Wizard might just beat you again."</p><p>Ron ripped his wand toward her. "You bitch!"</p><p>"Stand<em> down!"</em></p><p><em>Where is my bloody wand! </em>Hermione mentally screamed, in the confusion plunging her hand into the pocket of her robes where she would have normally kept it and coming up empty.</p><p>"Both of you, shut your sodding mouths!"</p><p>Ron and Ginny stopped mid-incantation, wand tips inches from the other's face.</p><p>At the window, Harry had spun toward them, red-faced. <em>"Thank</em> you," he muttered vehemently.</p><p>Hermione watched in amazement as Ginny's face morphed from almost crazed vexation to the utmost concern in the span of two seconds. "Harry?" Tentatively, she touched his arm and then clutched at it. "Oh Harry, darling, we didn't mean to upset you. We won't do it again, will we, Ronáld? Ronáld?"</p><p>Both men ignored her. Unfortunately for Hermione, this meant that Ron decided to turn his attention back to her. Pouring himself a drink from a gold bottle that looked like it was covered with actual diamonds, he leaned back against the wall beside the window and ran a hand over his practically solid hair, preening. Slowly, he traced his eyes down her form with a smirk that moonlighted as an unnerving leer. "You really have outdone yourself this year, pet."</p><p>Hermione tensed, clenching her fists, and bit her lip hard to restrain the tirade that pleaded to burst forth and let him - whoever he was, and whatever he had done to Ron - have it. This wasn't right, nor was it safe; these people clearly weren't the Harry, Ron and Ginny she knew and trusted, and they seemed to have a very different opinion about her, too.</p><p>She <em>needed more information. </em></p><p>Thankfully, Imposter Ron's apparent love of his own voice made him only too happy to acquiescence.</p><p>"I know your only goal in life is to be socialite queen of the sovereignty, but buying the Head Girl-ship? Landing us in this compartment?" he continued. He raised his glass to her, nodding approvingly. "That was nicely done, nicely done indeed." He gulped down the amber liquid, then slammed the tumbler back on the accent table with a bang. "Getting your priorities straight, you are. Almost makes me wish I'd done the same so we could've shared those comfy quarters in private." He tilted his head toward Harry and Ginny in a quick jerk and then wiggled his eyebrows at her in a manner that... was he <em>flirting</em> with her? "Y'know, I always knew you could figure something out if you really needed to."</p><p><em>'I always knew you could figure something out if you really needed to...' </em> <em>What in the bloody <strong>hell?</strong></em></p><p>As everything he said sank in, Hermione's heart started to pound too loudly for its own good. Tiling her head down slightly, she saw that the Head Girl badge was indeed pinned to her robes.</p><p>A thousand screaming thoughts exploded in her mind.</p><p>Not a single one of them made the slightest amount of sense.</p><p>Her anger quickly morphing to a subtle fear, Hermione jerked her attention back to an expectant Ron and forced a smile to her face to ward off the inevitable dialogue. They were talking about things she had never done, or at least never remembered doing, and indirectly insulting her intelligence in the process. But maybe… <em>here</em>… she – or someone who sounded like her and perhaps looked like her - had done those things?</p><p>"Thanks," she finally said cautiously, her gaze surreptitiously slipping across the compartment to study Harry and Ginny's reaction to her response.</p><p>She coughed back a choke.</p><p>Ginny was pressed up against Harry's right side, her bare leg draped over his knees. She was snogging the right half of his face as if her very life depended on it. Meanwhile, he sat stone-faced and unresponsive, staring out the window at the pastoral landscape blurring by.</p><p>Hermione had no idea how much time passed before she blinked rapidly, jarring herself from gaping at the scene before her. So many things were wrong with what she was witnessing that she didn't even know where to begin: Ginny and Harry usually never participated in such public displays of affection; Harry would <em>never</em> ignore Ginny like this; and he certainly would have been doubly respectful knowing that Ron -</p><p>Oh dear Merlin, <em>Ron!</em></p><p>Even though the youngest male Weasley had grudgingly accepted Harry's and Ginny's relationship the summer before, Hermione worriedly shifted her gaze back toward him, fully expecting to hear a familiar bellow of brotherly indignation at any moment –</p><p>His face was less than a wand's length from hers.</p><p>Hermione jerked backward. <em>"Sweet</em> Morgana!" Clutching her thundering heart with one hand and the edge of the seat with the other, she gasped in a lungful of air. "Merlin, Ronald, haven't you ever heard of the concept of - of personal space!" she spat.</p><p>In only a matter of seconds, Ron had covered the small distance between them; despite her words of warning, he didn't make any attempt to move away. He didn't seem at all concerned with his sister's very one-sided dalliance with his best friend only feet away. Instead, he actually chuckled, low in his throat, and gave her a crooked smirk. "Oh, stop trying to be <em>amusing,</em> pet. You were never any good at being clever."</p><p>He again raked his gaze over her figure with what could only be described as a leer.</p><p>"Stop staring at me like that," Hermione said warily, gritting her teeth. She fumbled around for her wand, reaching up her sleeve, around the waistband of her skirt - Oh Merlin, it wasn't in <em>any</em> of the places she normally kept it…</p><p>"Come now, pet," Ron breathed in a husky voice she would have never believed he possessed, simply leaning closer the faster that she backed away from him, "am I not allowed to look at something of mine?"</p><p>Before Hermione could process that statement, his arm was around her, pulling her to him, <em>crushing</em> her to him, his lips sucking the life from her mouth, her throat, her neck -</p><p>For the second time, all thought momentarily flew from her mind.</p><p>Ron. Kissing her. Ron was <em>kissing her,</em> her brain managed. His hands were everywhere, doing everything that she had always looked at Ron and wondered what it would be like to experience, and as his teeth grazed her collarbone, she sucked in a sharp intake of breath and unconsciously arched her neck into his downward onslaught. His mouth moved sloppily across her skin, lower… lower… dangerously lower –</p><p>
  <em>Hermione, <strong>no!</strong> This isn't the Ron you know! That doesn't make a lick of sense right now, but it isn't! </em>
</p><p>Her eyes flew open. They swiftly widened in disgust at the first sight that greeted her: a mass of greasy, slicked-back hair. Frantically, she yanked away from him with all the strength she possessed, her hand flying toward his face in the same motion and connecting with a resounding slap.<em> "</em>I said <em>stop!"</em></p><p>Without bothering to check his reaction, she scooted to the farthest end of the suddenly very tiny compartment, gasping in gulps of air and furiously fluffing her hair over her shoulders and out of her face. Somewhat hysterically, she continued to dig around the pockets of her robe.</p><p>Ron… snogging... snogging <em>her? </em></p><p>
  <em>No, no, this is not happening… </em>
</p><p>
  <em>What, he finally decides he fancies me when he's turned into a dodgy, peacocking narcissist?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My wand… Where is my wand?…</em>
</p><p>A bright, angry handprint had appeared on his freckled face, which was steadily turning purple in outrage. "Bugger, My, what in the bloody hell has gotten into-"</p><p>Abruptly, he trailed off. Ignoring him, Hermione vehemently reached down to fling her hitched-up skirt over her now-bare legs... and felt her fingers connect with a slender stick of wood, stuck down the inside of her thigh-high stockings. She closed her hand around the familiar wand and briefly closed her eyes in relief before swiftly pulling it from its "hiding place." How on earth had anyone thought <em>that</em> was a good idea?</p><p>"Wait a minute… " Ron said slowly. If a face could truly light up malevolently, his had.</p><p>Hermione paused to glare at him while swiftly buttoning her white oxford. (How had it gotten unbuttoned? Had it been unbuttoned before?) "What?" she snapped.</p><p>The lanky redhead – so similar, and yet so very different – stared at her as if he'd never quite seen her until that moment. "You're… you're playing <em>hard to get</em>, aren't you, pet," he said, phrasing it as more of an excited statement than a question.</p><p><em>In your dreams, </em>she thought fiercely. But from the corner of her eye, she noticed that even Harry had torn his dead eyes from the countryside and was watching them apathetically, Ginny still halfway on top of him.</p><p><em>Wonderful, an audience,</em> she thought sarcastically, but it reinforced her growing dread that she somehow needed to give responses that would be most in-character for this person who sounded like her - and may have looked like her - who they were calling 'My' and 'pet.'</p><p>She sighed heavily, weighing her options.</p><p>"Yes, Ronáld, that is exactly what I'm doing," she eventually said flatly... certainly better than to deny it, anyway.</p><p>Ron… Ronáld… let out a feral little growl that would have never passed the lips of the Ron that Hermione knew, a delighted smirk on his face, as if she had just whispered the most inventive not to mention hottest come-on ever invented, and he was downright up for the challenge.</p><p><em>Bugger, not quite the effect I wanted to have,</em> she thought with a fresh wave of alarm, trying to stay composed while glaring at him coldly. "So keep your hands off me," she snapped, raising her rediscovered wand toward his eager countenance just in case he didn't catch her point.</p><p>He heaved a heavy, self-suffering sigh. "Alright, My," he said with a deep roll of his eyes, "I'll play your little game." Another smirk jumped to his face as he leaned toward her and wagged his finger knowingly, lowering his voice in a tone she supposed was meant to sound seductive. "But not for long, pet."</p><p>She only lowered her wand slightly despite his agreement. "Believe that if it'll help you sleep better at night," she retorted sourly.</p><p>Ron – Ronáld - broke away from her and rolled his eyes at Harry, twirling his finger around his ear in the universal signal for 'madwoman present.' At the motion, Ginny actually paused in her mouth massage of Harry's face to let out a downright unnerving screech of laughter that reminded Hermione of Bellatrix Lestrange.</p><p>A burst of utter desperation finally broke free and surged through her exhausted mind.</p><p>It was too much.</p><p>She wanted <em>her</em> Ron, her Harry, her Ginny! Not these... these dark versions of them! Even though her robes still said Gryffindor, she felt as if she were sitting in a den of Slytherins, but it was <em>real:</em> there was nothing fake about the lingering sensation of Ron's slobber on her neck in place of the boy she was so exasperatedly fond of, or the way that this Harry's dull eyes were so opposite the fiery, determined Harry who was her best friend.</p><p>Hot tears pricked at her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, fighting to restrain them. She - She was only nineteen years old, for the love of Merlin. She'd already spent <em>years</em> evading Voldemort's forces, searching for horcruxes, and rallying people to fight. Sweet Morgana, she was tired! And now, just as the end had literally been within grasp, could she truly have been brought to a place where it might quite possibly be <em>worse?</em> Why had this happened?! What more could the Universe possibly want from her?</p><p><em>All right, Hermione, stop and</em> breathe, she told herself sternly.<em> Breathe! Think logically. You're the only one here who's still yourself, so the spell must have been done </em><strong><em>to you,</em></strong><em> not to Harry or to anyone else. Suss out what happened to you, and you might be able to sort out how to reverse it. Now, which spells would create this sort of effect?</em></p><p>Swallowing desperation, she began to run through her mental catalogue of charms and enchantments. Illusionary charms… coma states… nightmare hexes… pensive locks…</p><p>It took immense restraint to resist banging her head against the nearest solid object; with the way her luck was going, it would most likely end up being Ron – Ronal – RonAHLD and his loathsome hair. The list of possibilities was not only vast, it was endless… and that was only if whatever was happening to her was purely mental; if she was trapped somewhere in her mind and nothing more.</p><p>But there were other types of spells... spells that altered reality, spells that were rumored to transfer the enchanted from one universe to another. Some worlds were similar and some were practically identical, but others were rumored to be completely different... and if transference magic was the culprit, this universe was quite obviously among the latter. Of course, inter-dimensional transfer theories were passed off as just that - theories - but that didn't mean they were impossible.</p><p>And because it was highly likely the spell that had resulted in this nightmare had been cast by a Death Eater, that didn't even begin to delve into any Dark Magic that may have been able to accomplish the same thing.</p><p>
  <em>Bloody Morgana… where am I?</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Welcome To Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The remainder of the train ride and subsequent carriage trip to Hogwarts provided the sort of enlightenment that only revealed more mysteries rather than solved them.</p>
<p>After her near-assault (courtesy of Ronáld), Hermione felt it wisest to feign sleep for the rest of the journey. In the conversations between Harry, Ginny, and Ronáld that followed, she was able to glean snippets of random information that would probably make more sense to her once she could read up on the general history of whatever universe or mentality in which she was trapped.</p>
<p>First, Harry was Head Boy to Hermione's Head Girl, and while she – or this 'My' version of herself – had apparently 'bought' her way into the position, however that worked, Harry had actually had the grades to be appointed to it. Ronáld had also referred to Harry as 'Evans' several times, leaving her to conclude that it, and not Potter, must have been his surname here. Hermione - or, rather, My had also spent some or all of the summer with Harry... or so she assumed from the very brief passage between the two boys shortly after she had "fallen asleep."</p>
<p>"Seems you've been burned yet again, O Dearest Brother," Ginny had said in the same insincere, sickly-sweet voice, incredibly pausing in her one-sided lovefest with Harry to do. Hermione heard a slight rustle, as if the black-and-redheaded witch had gestured with her hand. "Either My really is sleeping, or she's avoiding you <em>by</em> sleeping. If you can't sort out how to transfigure yourself from a lout to a lord very quickly, she'll be gone for good this time." She suddenly laughed. "Oh wait, that's right - You haven't got a chance. You've always lacked the sophistication William and Charles have."</p>
<p>"Actually, Ginevra, I believe the term for My's behavior is 'hard to get,' " Ronáld countered sneeringly, twisting out his sister's name as if it were a dirty word. "Probably got the idea out of one of her <em>Witches' Vogue</em> articles. If you were a man, you'd find it, shall we say, <em>stimulating</em>. Perhaps you should try it out on Evans here; he obviously isn't responding to your efforts to throw yourself on him."</p>
<p>Hermione found it rather odd that Ronáld had enough control over the conversation to make a reference to Harry as if Harry wasn't even in the compartment.</p>
<p>Ginny's - or perhaps here, she went by Ginevra - voice darkened. "That's none of your business, Ronáld."</p>
<p>He laughed. "Is too; it's bloody entertaining is what it is. I do so love watching you make a twat of yourself in public."</p>
<p>Hermione braced herself for the threat of another duel, but no growls of death or mutilation came from the other side of the compartment. She could hear the smile in Ginevra's voice when she spoke again. "Insult me again, brother, and I'll see to it you never get a go at our House Wizard this year."</p>
<p>"I'd like to see you try; I'm primary owner on him, aren't I?"</p>
<p>"Aye, but your locks aren't half as good as mine."</p>
<p>"I'll call Father if you do."</p>
<p>Her voice darkened. "You wouldn't."</p>
<p>Ronáld didn't respond. By now, on top of everything else unclear about this world, Hermione was at a loss as to what they were fighting over so vehemently. At first she'd thought they'd meant a House-Elf, but no - Ginevra had clearly said "House <em>Wizard"-</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Bam!</em>
</p>
<p>At the loud noise, Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin.</p>
<p>"We'll see about that," she heard Ginevra mutter darkly; Hermione wondered if the youngest Weasley had just broken or hexed something. Hopefully Ronáld. "Harry, darling, this compartment has become so very<em> dull; </em>I might go look for Brown and Longbottom. D'you want to come?"</p>
<p>Instead of an answer, silence met her words. It was broken after a moment by Ronáld's none-too-discreet snort. <em>Bugger it, </em>Hermione thought - apparently, Ginevra hadn't hexed him. "What did big brother tell you, eh? My might be a daft dimbo at everything else she does, but she bloody well knows how to trap a bloke in her spell." If they hadn't been closed, Hermione would have rolled her eyes at the smug pride in his voice. " 'Hard to get,' Ginevra. Remember that."</p>
<p>"I CAN'T FIGHT THIS WORLD, I HATE IT, I HATE EVERYONE –"</p>
<p>Out of nowhere, muffled, screaming music and heavy bass suddenly erupted throughout the compartment. It was only by a minor miracle that Hermione managed to remain relatively limp, though she flinched slightly at the loud noise and dug her fingers into the plush pillow beneath her head.</p>
<p>"Blimey, Ronáld, can't you turn that blasted thing down?" Ginevra snapped angrily.</p>
<p>"Of course I can't turn it down, you cow, it might be important. Now shut it." The angry music increased in volume and clarity, as if whatever contraption was behind it had been uncovered. "Bloody hell, it's father again. Give him the latest mobile model and he can't get enough of the bloody thing - What do you want?" he snapped as the music abruptly, thankfully stopped playing.</p>
<p>A garbled, unintelligible response could be heard in the ringing silence that followed.</p>
<p>The entire situation suddenly became so utterly preposterous that Hermione almost burst out laughing. So absurd was everything that had happened to her since she had somehow left the site of the final battle that this latest revelation didn't even shock her.</p>
<p>" – Yes, father, I get it, all right? Don't ring me again. I'm going into the Great Hall now; you know the service in here is bollocks..."</p>
<p>Ronáld Weasley was using a Muggle mobile phone. And what was more, not only was he lying through his teeth, both he and his father apparently seemed to know <em>how</em> to use it.</p>
<p>"Yeah, the train got in early… Right. I'll tell her. Bye."</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, this day just keeps getting better and better.</em>
</p>
<p>She mentally frowned as she backpedaled to one of Ronáld's offhanded comments about taking his mobile into the Great Hall. She knew from experience that outside of Muggle studies, Muggle technology typically wasn't allowed at Hogwarts...</p>
<p>Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something snapping shut.</p>
<p>"Anyway. Evans," Ron continued shortly, sounding only slightly put-out, "Was My acting all shirty and stroppy like this with you at the manor? While it's sexy and exciting now, I don't fancy putting up with it for long."</p>
<p>As the conversation paused, Hermione held her breath. Her grip around her wand, tucked beneath her robes, instinctively tightened.</p>
<p>"Somewhat," Harry finally replied curtly, the word more grunted than spoken.</p>
<p>Though Hermione had no idea why My would have been around Harry long enough 'at the manor' for him to have been able to produce that answer - they certainly didn't seem to be good enough friends for her to make a social call - she silently released the trapped air in both relief and surprise, briefly sending up a prayer of thanks to whichever universal spirits were looking down on her. As she learned more and more about her surroundings, she was becoming increasingly convinced it was imperative she didn't give away the fact that bimbo-istic My had been taken over by a considerably more intelligent self.</p>
<p>Harry had not spoken another word for the rest of the journey.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Aside from realizing that Harry didn't have a lightning bolt scar, Hermione's second most earth-shattering observation occurred at the end of the train ride. The door to their particular compartment had a decorative mirror inset where a window to the hallway should have been, apparently both a convenience and form of privacy for the Head Boy and Girl.</p>
<p>It was courtesy of this mirror that Hermione first saw My.</p>
<p>Initially, she still thought it was a window to the corridor, until the pseudo-model in said corridor started imitating her movements motion-for-motion, and then froze at the exact moment Hermione did, staring, wide-eyed, at the image.</p>
<p>Her red-stained lips parted in shock.</p>
<p>Hermione's 'free-spirited hair,' as she had fondly referred to its bushy-ness, was longer than she had <em>ever</em> grown it, tumbling over her shoulders and down her chest in impossibly perfect, voluminous curls that held not a single ounce of frizz. Its brown shade was lightened just slightly with blond highlights that hadn't so much changed the color as brightened her face, which was already covered so flawlessly with makeup that it was neither too much nor too little, simply accentuating every feature she had ever liked about herself - and even those she hadn't. Her normally fair skin was tanned to a glowing, tawny shade of brown that, short of spending an entire summer on the Costa del Sol, had surely been accomplished through magical intervention, and her uniform was so form-fitted, her skirt so short, Hermione was certain it would fail to meet every Hogwarts dress code since the school had been founded.</p>
<p>
  <em>Holy mother of Merlin.</em>
</p>
<p>She hardly would have recognized herself if she hadn't known it was herself she was looking at, and if Ronáld hadn't let out an impatient sigh, said as if addressing a five-year-old, "Now, now, the world knows you're the fairest of them all, pet; let's get a move on," and shoved her none-too-gently toward the doorway, Hermione probably would have forgotten herself completely and let out a scream.</p>
<p>As it was, she ground her teeth and followed him out the compartment door.</p>
<p>
  <em>Good Merlin, that - that is </em>
  <strong>
    <em>not</em>
  </strong>
  <em> me!</em>
</p>
<p>Now the the world had jumped from being downright creepy to absolutely terrifying. Just how in Merlin's name was she supposed to pretend to be this 'My' person for - for... for Godric knew how long? When was the last time she'd even attempted to apply makeup so well? One and a half… two years? Bill and Fleur's wedding, that was it…</p>
<p>It wasn't as if Hermione couldn't do it, she had just never had the patience for it. Quite frankly, she had always been far more concerned about what her grades looked like than what her hair did, end of story. But if she stopped now – or, rather, if the person that everyone in this world knew as My stopped making herself up like a sodding supermodel – Hermione assumed it'd be a dead giveaway that something was seriously off.</p>
<p>Every breath she took felt like another cautious step across a field encrusted with land-mines. Simply being around Harry, Ronáld, and Ginevra was stressful enough: trying to say just enough without revealing too much nor too little, dodging Harry's little blank but calculating stares the moment she voiced a word with more than six letters in it. She felt disturbingly like a spy in the midst of an enemy camp during a war, even though it hardly seemed like wartime here, wherever she was, and no one seemed to be after her.</p>
<p>Even so, something… no, many, <em>many</em> somethings about this world had dark, dangerous undertones to them, including every underclassmen she had passed walking to the carriages in a downpour of rain that unnervingly reminded her of the storm during the final battle. To be sure, their conversations had all the energy of companions reunited after long summer months, but the content wasn't bubbly and bright. Instead, it was filled with Dark Arts references and jokes that Hermione found more cruel than funny.</p>
<p>Sweet Morgana, she had to <em>at least</em> suss out who 'she' was supposed to be and what she was dealing with here, and as quickly as possible. How did people expect "My" to act? Who governed this chilling place - the Ministry, or some sort of Dark Lord?</p>
<p>The second Ronáld let out a hoot of greeting and sauntered over to a Neville Longbottom who was about fifty pounds lighter than her world's version of him, a whole lot more built, and actually stunningly good-looking, Hermione snapped.</p>
<p>Swiftly, she caught the sleeve of her dark-haired best friend's apathetic double and held him back. "Harry," she hissed in a stage whisper.</p>
<p>Harry stopped abruptly and silently looked down at her with Ginny…evra clinging to his side like static electricity, though the youngest Weasley was so preoccupied with Harry that Hermione doubted she would be a hindrance. Without allowing herself the opportunity to lose her nerve, she again broke out the six-week drama course she'd taken during the summer after fourth year; she had subsequently put the skills she'd picked up there to great use, both in her world and, now, this one.</p>
<p>Closing her eyes and wrapping her left arm around her stomach, Hermione pressed the back of her right hand to her forehead and half-moaned, "Oh… Oh dear, Harry, I feel simply <em>awful."</em> Swaying a bit for effect, she opened her eyes and stared at him desperately. "I just can't sit out in front of everyone like this. It'll completely sod my image!"</p>
<p>For the first time in at least two hours, Harry spoke, his deep voice still as flat as it had briefly been on the train. "Where're you going to hide, then, My, hmm? You abhor the Hospital Wing, and Headmistress McGonagall hasn't given us the passwords to the Head dorms yet. You might be drop-dead gorgeous, but charming a landscape portrait to let you in without the magic words is a skillset you just don't have."</p>
<p>Ginevra cackled, while Hermione flinched at the sound of such sarcasm from a person who was usually, at a minimum, considerate of the people he cared about. Ignoring a sharp stab of sadness, she focused instead on analyzing how she should respond based on her and Harry's relationship, or lack thereof. The strength of his scathing remark, interlaced with a virtually nonexistent compliment, surprised her, especially if they were supposed to be 'friends.'</p>
<p>Another panicked thought suddenly struck her.</p>
<p>
  <em>Perhaps here, Harry and I aren't friends at all!</em>
</p>
<p>The thought was so devastating that for a moment she couldn't properly breathe. Still, the Hermione of this world probably wouldn't care less about it, would she?</p>
<p>
  <em>An airhead, Hermione! Think airhead!</em>
</p>
<p>"Oh, I'm sure I'll find someone to get me somewhere," she replied flippantly with a feigned, pained smile and a blasé wave of her hand, slipping the fact that McGonagall was Headmistress here into the mental file she had begun to call 'Universe B.'</p>
<p>"Well, then." Harry's choleric gaze shifted toward Ronáld's back as, like a king, the redhead swept out of the foyer at the centre of a rowdy group of Gryffindor boys. After a moment, he glanced back down at her with narrowed eyes. "I suppose this means I'll have to cover for you, then, won't I?"</p>
<p>Instantly, Hermione realized what he meant and was doubly happy she'd decided to opt out of the Sorting and Welcome Feast: Leading around first years with loads of curious questions to which she had no answers was not an experience she cared to fudge her way through.</p>
<p>Ginn...evra rolled her eyes and rudely began pulling Harry away from Hermione toward the open Great Hall doors. "Harry, Harry, come <em>on;</em> everyone else is going inside-"</p>
<p>As Harry scowled and attempted to untangle himself from Ginevra's hands, Hermione widened her eyes and purposely curled a lock of hair around her finger, twisting it in feigned puzzlement. "Cover?" she asked innocently.</p>
<p>"Yes, My, <em>cover. </em>And would you get <em>off-"</em> An ounce of actual irritation leaked into Harry's otherwise toneless, icy voice, and he physically flung Ginevra away from him before turning back to Hermione. Ginevra looked briefly mournful before stomping off into the Great Hall irately. "Taking the first years to their common rooms? Explaining rules and protocols? All the Head Girl responsibilities of which you, Gryffindor's resident moronic tart and frankly most unsuitable candidate for Head Girl this school has ever seen, have absolutely no knowledge?"</p>
<p>Hermione bristled, grinding her jaw. Whether or not he was speaking the truth about 'My' was one thing, but who was this soulless shell into whom her beloved Harry had morphed? It was enough to break her heart, but she didn't have the time to mourn, and rationally prepared an appropriate comeback that wouldn't be over My's head.</p>
<p>"Oh, well, best you did it, then, isn't it?" she told him sweetly with a loud and very forced giggle. She patted his tense shoulder amicably before twirling around and prancing off down the south foyer exit with one last wave of her hand at his now-scowling face. "Ta, Harry!"</p>
<p>Now he probably thought she was simply skiving off, but he hadn't seemed too surprised about it, either.</p>
<p>
  <em>Good, probably something My would do.</em>
</p>
<p>Once Hermione made it to an empty hallway, she didn't dare look back, nor did she need to consult a portrait or statue for directions as she started to sprint toward the library.</p>
<p>CLICK CLICK CLICK-</p>
<p>She wobbled and lurched to a stop. Pulling her wand from its rightful place up her sleeve, she irritably flicked it at her feet and sighed in relief as four inch heels transformed into comfortable – and silent - flats. As for the reaction of others, Hermione didn't care. She wasn't planning on running into anyone else that night.</p>
<p>The library, thank Merlin, was just as she remembered it: Musty and dim with just enough light, the air filled with the smell of much-loved leather.</p>
<p>Hermione slipped into the back entrance she knew well, near the Restricted Section, and glanced around discreetly, though she doubted Madam Pince or whoever this universe's librarian was would be there during the Sorting Ceremony. She had a vague idea of what she was looking for, and only hoped that it wasn't in a different section of the library in this vastly different world.</p>
<p>Moving carefully through deafening silence, Hermione distractedly cut through the Restricted Section. Distraction swiftly turned to horrified astonishment as she faced what must have been her hundredth shock of the night: Rather than the typically forbidden volumes about the Dark Arts, the Restricted Section held rows and rows of heavily dust-covered tomes on Light Arts culture, beliefs, and values. Most terrifying? A decently-sized section on Defense Against the Dark Arts.<em> Restricted.</em></p>
<p>Hermione swallowed a wave of nausea and forced herself to continue on… until familiar words froze her feet to the ground.</p>
<p>
  <em>Sweet Merlin.</em>
</p>
<p>Slowly, she reached out in dazed horror to lightly touch the dusty, cracked spine of her standard sixth-year Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, jerking her fingers back just as quickly when several spiders scuttled out and spilled across the bindings.</p>
<p>The book – well, all of them, really - looked as if they hadn't been moved in decades.</p>
<p>
  <em>Bloody Morgana, what kind of world </em>
  <strong>
    <em>is</em>
  </strong>
  <em> this? </em>
</p>
<p>Finally, she blinked rapidly and numbly stumbled backward a step. <em>Come on, you're never going to survive here if you lose your head! If this really is a new world, you've got to find out as much as you possibly can right now!</em></p>
<p>Gripping her purse-like, designer book bag that was so lacking in practicality Hermione doubted it could support more than one textbook, she turned and quickly continued on her way, passing an enormous section labeled<em> Dark Arts </em>that encompassed what would have been, in her world, Defense Against the Dark Arts <em>and</em> Charms combined. It was becoming scarily apparent what Universe B's Hogwarts valued most, though she was extremely surprised to find a rather large section on Muggle Studies and Technology as well.</p>
<p>She nearly collapsed in relief as she finally reached the History of Magic section, right where it should be, tucked away in the northwest corner of the library. Whether in her universe or this one, Hermione noted somewhat fondly that it still looked as though it hadn't been visited in ages.</p>
<p>Perfect for someone who temporarily wanted to disappear.</p>
<p>She leaned toward a bookshelf, conjuring a non-verbal <em>Lumos</em> and holding up her wand as she peered at the titles. A thick but smooth wave of hair fell into her eyes, and she brushed it back in annoyance. Her new hairstyle included long bangs swept to one side, and they, along with high-heeled shoes and thigh-high stockings, were quickly becoming the bane of her minute-to-minute existence.</p>
<p>Nimbly, she scanned the bookshelves, finding titles both familiar and sinister.</p>
<p><span>The Goblin Revolutions, 1301-1352</span>. <em>No, too early.</em></p>
<p>Her eyes moved forward to the shelves labeled <em>20th Century Relevant.</em></p>
<p><span>Foundation of an Empire, WWII On</span>. <em>Muggle books in the magical section?</em></p>
<p><span>Our Sovereign, an Autobiography</span>. Sovereign? Was there no longer a Ministry here? Did Voldemort win? Is that what this was? But then why were Ron and Harry parading about as if they ruled the world? No, it was probably talking about Grindelwald, but she didn't recall him ever referring to himself as 'Sovereign.' <em>Interesting…</em></p>
<p><span>Hogwarts, A History</span>. <em>Ah, my darling, we meet again!</em></p>
<p>Hermione's fingers inched toward her literary friend, but she stopped short when she noticed <span>A Brief History of the Modern Wizarding World</span> a few books away. Setting down her book bag, she lifted the latter from its place, sending a cloud of dust from the surrounding books belching upward.</p>
<p>Carefully, she studied the cover. <span>A Brief History of the Modern Wizarding World, 1945- 1997</span> looked far newer than any of its counterparts, and since it covered everything up to 1997 - only the previous year - it was exactly what she needed. All she knew for certain thus far was that she was clearly stuck in some sort of mad, twisted world, but she would feel considerably better, relatively speaking, if that was at least confirmed in writing.</p>
<p>Warily surveying her surroundings, Hermione moved to a small alcove off the bay windows overlooking what would have been the lake, but now only reflected utter blackness in the transparent glass. Squeezing into the small, lighted niche known only to the rare Hogwarts booklover who wanted some serious privacy, she sighed and opened the dusty cover. The table of contents was filled with names of historical events she didn't recognize – at least, things that hadn't happened in her universe, Universe A. She stared down at it, uncertainly wondering where a relevant starting place would be.</p>
<p>Finally, she dug her fingers between the pages near the middle of the book and just flipped the entire thing open to a random page, again irritatedly sweeping her bangs out of the way so she could read.</p>
<p>She was grateful she was sitting down after only one paragraph.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was an hour before Hermione came up for air. Heavily, she leaned her head against the stone wall at her back; it connected with a small <em>thunk, </em>but by now she felt so numb she hardly noticed the sting of pain. Her astonishment and horror had faded to a dull, resigned acceptance that she was going to have to make the best of the hell-like world in which she was suddenly, inexplicably stuck:</p>
<p>A world in which the twinkling-eyed Albus Dumbledore had ruled as 'Sovereign' of the Sovereignty of the Phoenix, this world's equivalent of the British Ministry of Magic, ever since he defeated a man named Gellert Grindelwald.</p>
<p>Grindelwald, who, along with his father before him, had overseen a peaceful United Kingdom with the whole of continental Europe for decades beforehand.</p>
<p>Grindelwald, who, here, had been on the so-called 'good side,' though the book certainly didn't portray him that way.</p>
<p>In this narration, Dumbledore had taken power in the name of "progress" and Muggle innovation integration, proposing that, wrapped in his conventional ways, Grindelwald was holding the magical world back from achieving true greatness, which Dumbledore defined as combining the wisdom of both the Muggle and Magical worlds. Unfortunately (though Hermione's mind, and not the book, inserted this annotation), Dumbledore had found that Dark Magic seemed to bind more readily to Muggle technology than Light Magic, so the Dark Arts had been prioritized substantially above the Light.</p>
<p>It was also a world in which Tom Riddle, better known to her as Lord Voldemort, had during the late seventies and early eighties become the leader of those whom the Sovereignty had labelled 'Conservative insurgents.' Though not directly stated in the book, Hermione got the impression that these 'Conservative insurgents' also favored the Light Arts, but the book portrayed them as separatists who resisted adopting cutting-edge Muggle/Magical inventions in favor of maintaining narrow-minded, archaic traditions.</p>
<p>Despite this, the Conservatives' uprising - the response to which the book called "the First Conservative Intervention" - turned out to be a surprisingly powerful force, but it was nonetheless quelled when several of its leaders, Tom Riddle and a certain Lucius Malfoy included, mysteriously vanished in the mid-eighties. No stand-off between Riddle and Harry Evans/Potter seemed to have occurred, further explaining why Harry didn't have the famous scar of Universe A.</p>
<p>According to <span>A Brief History</span>, after this Dumbledore had only mildly oppressed those families which had supported the side of the Conservatives: many Pureblooded traditional families like the Malfoys, Blacks, Lestranges, and Parkinsons had been stripped of most if not all their wealth, land, titles, and reputations until they were 'poor' by most Wizarding standards.</p>
<p>These Purebloods (the book called them Old-Bloods, which Hermione supposed didn't give off quite the same superior connotation as "Pureblood," and likewise Half-Bloods were called Mixed-Bloods) were derogatorily referred to here as "Fusties" in much the same way that "Mudblood" had been applied to Muggleborns in Universe A. But the discrimination in Universe B went a step further: Businesses were given legal right to turn known Conservative supporters away from their doors and positions of employment. In this way, the Sovereignty had continued to control followers of the Light Arts until what would have been the middle of Hermione's fifth year.</p>
<p>That was when everything changed.</p>
<p>Riddle escaped from Azkaban, apparently where he had 'mysteriously vanished' to, and Conservative insurgents began to again emerge across the Sovereignty. After fifth year holidays, Hogwarts School was placed on hold so all hands would be available in what had become a full-out war of suppression... but of course was only formally titled "the Second Conservative Intervention."</p>
<p>By the middle of Hermione's sixth year in Universe A, Universe B's Sovereign Dumbledore, his Viceroys (Arthur Weasley and, surprisingly, Lily Evans), and the Sovereignty of the Phoenix had jointly defeated forces led by Bellatrix Black, Tom Riddle and Narcissa Malfoy.</p>
<p>Well, actually, Hermione rephrased, Riddle had simply 'vanished' again as soon as the war had ended. Not 'mysteriously vanished,' though, which perhaps meant that this time he might not have been in Azkaban...</p>
<p>It was completely flipped, she thought in shock, bowing her head and curling her knees to her chest in as tight a ball as she possibly could. In this world, good was bad and bad was good, and the good had lost. Hermione supposed it was comparable to soundly losing to Voldemort, in her world.</p>
<p>Still, her mind was throbbing with pure disbelief at associating any of those names – Malfoy, Riddle, and for Merlin's sake,<em> Bellatrix? </em>- with 'Light,' just as much as she was having a hard time imagining those who'd been members of the Order of the Phoenix as evil. And the book had mentioned Lily Evans, which meant that Harry finally had at least one parent who was alive!</p>
<p>Then again, Hermione considered, that wouldn't do him much good if she was as evil as Hermione was getting the impression Dumbledore was.</p>
<p>Slowly, she lifted her head again, taking several slow, long breaths before she kept reading. According to the book, the delay of the educational system due to the Second Intervention meant a year of school had to be made up, which would explain why she was attending classes now when she would be nineteen; the others in her year eighteen.</p>
<p>In a way, Hermione supposed she should be relieved she was on the winning side, apparently. But could she really pretend to be some brainless, materialistic woman who supported the Dark Arts for as long as she was trapped here? Hopefully with a little research, she'd be able to determine how to get herself back, but… what if it was irreversible?</p>
<p>The walls of her mind began to close frighteningly quickly while her breathing became shallow and ragged; her heart pounded.</p>
<p>
  <em>What if I'm here… permanently?</em>
</p>
<p>Instantly, spots of black began to dot her yellowing vision.</p>
<p>Oh Bloody Morgana, she couldn't breathe; she couldn't… couldn't…</p>
<p>Her brain's logic centre reined in her careening thoughts before hyperventilation could set in, setting a firm boundary and shoving outward until her vision became clearer.</p>
<p>Slowly, she breathed in, and out. Again. And again.</p>
<p>
  <em>Good Merlin, Hermione, this is why you think rationally rather than with your imagination. 'What ifs' will get you nowhere. Keep reading until you're fairly confident, and then figure out a plan.</em>
</p>
<p>'<em>A plan?' </em>some part of her felt steady enough to echo dryly.</p>
<p>
  <em>Well… something! Come on, you've fought in a war! This isn't even that! This should be easy </em>
  <em>compared to that!</em>
</p>
<p>She snorted to herself.</p>
<p>
  <em>Right...</em>
  <em> easy.</em>
</p>
<p>Sighing heavily, she admitted the truth of her mind's advice and allowed her eyes to flicker back down, flipping though the remainder of book. Most of pages were filled with an extremely long… index?</p>
<p>Frowning, she leaned closer, squinting and holding the lit tip of her wand closer to make out the small print in the dim light. It appeared to be a clearly marked and evidently very thorough register of those who had once been Conservative insurgents, except here the label atop the page was 'House-Wizards and Witches.'</p>
<p>Hermione stared blankly at the classification as Ronáld and Ginevra's argument on the Hogwarts Express flashed back to her. She knew all too well about the wizarding world's stance on House-Elves, but there had never been any record of witches and wizards being used like…</p>
<p>Swiftly, her stomach lurched, and she nearly vomited as the realization hit her all at once.</p>
<p>… being used like House-Elves. Like servants. Like <em>slaves.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>And with that, Dumbledore could end the threat of revolt for good.</em>
</p>
<p>Horror flooded her every nerve, and she looked back over the list of names with a fresh wave of numbed outrage. The index was arranged by location rather than alphabetized. More than two pages, filled with names and numbers, were devoted to a place called The Phoenix, but Hermione's gaze was drawn to a bolded <strong>Hogwarts.</strong> Beneath it were many names she didn't recognize, along with several she did. Avery, Crabbe, Goyle, Flint, Montague, Black, Nott, McNair…</p>
<p>All her life, these names had been associated with the darkest of the dark - bigots, zealots, hunters and killers.</p>
<p>But now, if this book was to be believed... these people might very well be the opposite of that: the only decent people she might find in this world. And they were <em>enslaved.</em></p>
<p>Her horrified gaze traveled downward. At the bottom of the <strong>Hogwarts</strong> section was a separate list – <strong>Personal House-Wizards to Students.</strong> On it were only five names; five lines. Apparently, only that many students were wealthy enough to afford their own, personal <em>House-Wizard,</em> Hermione thought in revulsion, ready to slam the book shut and dive headfirst into the Dark Arts Translation Spells and Enchantments section of the library, to find some way to <em>get the bloody hell back to her world…</em></p>
<p>But her breath froze on her lips the moment her eyes skimmed the fourth line of tiny print.</p>
<p>The first three House-Wizard names, she didn't recognize.</p>
<p>This one, she did.</p>
<p>'<em>A015, formerly Malfoy, Draco. Personal House-Wizard to Lord Ronáld Weasley (Primary) and Lady Ginevra Weasley (Secondary). 40,000 g.'</em></p>
<p>An image of the pompous platinum-haired wizard instantly flashed into her mind, his expression permanently set to sneer; she could even remember the haughty remark that usually came along with it: <em>'What are </em>you<em> looking at, you stupid Mudblood?'<br/></em></p>
<p>Sure, Malfoy had been annoying, immature, and more than occasionally cruel, but no one – no House-Elf, no human, <em>no one - </em>deserved to have their basic rights taken from them.</p>
<p>Somehow, though, Hermione doubted a S.P.E.W.-type lobbying movement for human welfare would be very acceptable here.</p>
<p><em>And </em><strong><em>'Lord</em></strong><em> Ronáld?' '</em><strong><em>Lady</em></strong><em> Ginevra?' </em>When had <em>that</em> happened - unless the Sovereign State was an aristocracy, and Mr. Weasley's status as one of Dumbledore's right hand Viceroys had also granted the Weasley family titles from the Sovereign himself. It was certainly a strong possibility.</p>
<p>Considering it from a purely objective standpoint, she found it odd that Ron, not Harry, would have chosen Draco, but this world was, again, turning out to be vastly different from the one she knew.</p>
<p>After a moment, her gaze was drawn back to the page, and she read the last name under <strong>Hogwarts.</strong></p>
<p>'<em>C128, formerly Parkinson, Pansy. Personal House-Witch to Lady My G. Evans. 10,500 g.'</em></p>
<p>Hm. So Harry had a sister. Obviously, if his parents survived, there was no reason why they couldn't have more children-</p>
<p>
  <em>Ohhh wait.</em>
</p>
<p>A dangerous twinge of familiarity surged through her, and Hermione's mind lurched violently into rewind, going back ten, twenty minutes… an hour…</p>
<p>"<strong><em>My? You all there, pet? My-y…"</em></strong></p>
<p>"<strong><em>Yes, My, </em></strong><em>cover."</em></p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>"Was My acting all shirty and stroppy like this with you at the manor?"</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Lady My G. Evans.</p>
<p>My G.</p>
<p>Hermione <em>Granger.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Bloody hell.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Unexpected Encounters</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As a warning, the second half of this chapter is quite graphic, so anticipate that going into it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She was a slave – pardon, a House-Witch owner, as if <em>that</em> name made the concept so much more palatable. The thought alone would have been enough to repulse Hermione to the point of illness, but not only that…</p><p>She - or this 'My' version of her - was officially a Potter. Or Evans, as it appeared to be in this universe.</p><p>Her mind quickly ran through several scenarios. The only one that made the most sense - particularly given she was quite obviously Ron's girlfriend and Ginevra was quite obviously Harry's, at least in Ginevra's mind - was the one in which she had, in the course of her acquaintanceship with Harry, been adopted by his very much alive mother and possibly father. Which also meant that, in the course of her acquaintanceship with Harry…</p><p>Something must have happened to her parents.</p><p>
  <em>No, no, no...</em>
</p><p>Suddenly, everyone to whom Hermione would normally go to enlist help for her less-than-stellar situation seemed wholly untrustworthy, and there was no earthly way she was going to seek out the Dumbledore of this world as if he was the respected, wise old man from hers.</p><p>
  <em>What a sodding, sodding mess. </em>
</p><p>She didn't know how long she simply sat, trying absorb/accept the wave of nearly overwhelming new information, especially since her head still pounded with the lingering effects of a migraine that hadn't entirely vanished since she'd entered this new reality.</p><p>Finally, she took a heavy breath.</p><p>She knew what she had to do. And by Merlin, when Hermione Granger was determined to see something through to the end, it would certainly be done.</p><p>Then and there, she made a solemn vow:</p><p>She <em>would</em> get home again.</p><p>No matter the lengths it might take, she was going to survive; she was going to find a way back to the world she loved, a world in which, she was quite certain, the darkest evil had already been defeated.</p><p>Primping like a model every morning? Curling her hair? Keeping her hand down and her mouth shut during classes and acting like Lavender Brown for an extended period of time? <em>Not a problem</em> – or, at least, not if it would dispel any suspicion from herself while she religiously staked out the library until she found a counterspell to whatever magic had landed her in Universe B.</p><p>It was an undercover approach she had never considered using during the war she had already fought - virtually everyone in her world would have been able to call her out as Harry Potter's brilliant best friend. Here, she was in a completely different situation, and if this world thought she was nothing more than a pretty face and an empty head, it could more than certainly work to her advantage.</p><p>Which was why she was now discreetly trailing her way, under the cover of a Disillusionment charm, back to the Head common room along a vaguely familiar and lesser trafficked corridor on the outskirts of the castle, lit wand held in an upright position as she poured over a copy of a Universe B Hogwarts yearbook from My's fifth year.</p><p>With a form of curiosity that more resembled dread churning in the pit of her stomach, she opened to the first - and uncharacteristically large – section of the yearbook.</p><p>Red and gold blasted off the pages. For the first time in her life, the colors clashed painfully with her gaze. Here, she was quite obviously still in Gryffindor House, and almost instantly, she found at least four photos of herself... well, not <em>herself,</em> per say, but of My, Ronáld, Harry, and Ginevra.</p><p>She peered at the first image and frowned - it was solely of Ginevra and herself, Ginevra's hair still streaked black and My's hair still scarily perfect, but this time it was straightened in a feat that Hermione herself had only managed once, at the Yule Ball. Staring at a picture of her well-dressed look-alike doing things that Hermione had never done was utterly surreal. In this photo, the two were posing amidst many onlookers (most of them male) as if the centre aisle in the Great Hall had been turned into a Parisian runway, uniform robes slung partially off their shoulders and lips pursed in an air kiss toward the camera.</p><p><em>Merlin, not at all looking forward to the next few days, </em>Hermione thought bleakly, taking notes on My's apparently promiscuous behavior nonetheless.</p><p>Swallowing her distaste, she tore her eyes away from the yearbook long enough to sidestep a particularly ominous ogre statue that she hadn't remembered in this area of the castle in her own universe. To her mild relief, the positively deserted halls were a much-wanted testament that the Welcome Feast was still in full swing.</p><p>Quickly turning her attention back to the yearbook – her new form of 'research' - she flipped the page to another image, this one featuring Ronáld-with-the-slicked-back-hair, Harry, and herself. Harry was staring at the camera as if he were trying to break it, Ronáld was too busy planting kisses along My's exposed neck to look at said camera, and My was blowing another kiss toward the viewer, giggling, and giving a saucy wink.</p><p><em>Sweet Merlin, please, </em>please<em> tell me I will never be put in another position where I will have to pose like that!</em></p><p>Here her name was still listed as <strong>My Granger</strong>, so whatever had happened between herself and the Evans/Potter family had to have occurred quite recently. So too must've whatever reason Harry had for talking to her as if he hated her more than Dementors –</p><p>"Eh, Filch! 'ow many more yeh got there?"</p><p>
  <em>Bugger!</em>
</p><p>The disembodied male yell was dangerously close.</p><p>Hermione leapt into the shadows of the nearest wall, wand in hand and spell in mouth, until she remembered that she was still under the Disillusionment Charm. She let out a sharp breath and sagged in relief... only to tense up again as she heard a few self-suffering mutterings and Filch's distinct voice reply, "Erm… this 'uns the last one."</p><p>Cautiously, she leaned back out into the hall once more, peering curiously down its shadowed length. As if someone very large was walking about several metres ahead, a large, rhythmical thumping noise sounded and then stopped - coming, she suspected, from a small courtyard there leading out to the grounds that also doubled as a luggage unloading station.</p><p>"And which one'a the Fusties do we 'ave 'ere, eh?"</p><p>Hermione sucked in a surprised breath.</p><p>This time, the voice was unmistakably Hagrid's... except that it sounded much more like a growl than his typically well-intentioned but guttural speech.</p><p>She leaned back into the darkness behind the ogre statue, muttering another Disillusionment for good measure. Hagrid had embodied goodness in her world, which, unluckily for her, meant that here he was almost certainly bad.</p><p>Meanwhile, there was a distinct but faint sound of something – cloth, maybe? – rustling. Then came perhaps the most terrifying sound Hermione had heard since she'd regained consciousness:</p><p>Hagrid suppressing chuckles of pure malevolence.</p><p>"Well, well, well. Look 'oo it is."</p><p>A thick silence greeted this comment, until...</p><p>
  <em>Crack!</em>
</p><p>Hermione leapt at the sharp noise.</p><p>"That's right, that'll teach yeh ter address yer superiors, ya good-for-nothing whelp," Hagrid's evil counterpart said in an eerily amused voice. "Eh, Filch, c'mere."</p><p>Sweet Merlin, whatever they were taunting was a <em>person?</em> Hermione thought, horrified.</p><p>Slowly, she began to inch closer to the courtyard. Of course, the wisest, most self-preserving action she could have taken then would have been to turn around and flee immediately, but a mixture of the kind of curiosity that most certainly killed the cat and, now, repulsion at whatever was being done to whoever was in the courtyard kept her in place.</p><p>Anyway, she hadn't snuck around undetected in an immense variety of mind-bending scenarios for seven and a half years for nothing.</p><p>"Don't suppose His Lordship'll mind if we teach 'im a little lesson," Hagrid's distinct voice continued.</p><p>Filch, peculiarly enough, sounded very much the same as her universe's version of him – old and creepy, plain and simple. "Sure looks like His Lordship's already taught 'im a few lessons 'imself, don't it?" he chuckled out.</p><p>Hermione tucked the yearbook under her left arm, gripping her wand in her right as she slunk down the last few metres of the hall before it emptied into the courtyard, where the dim light of the hallway faded into the darkness of night.</p><p>"It certainly does," Hagrid agreed smugly. "But as the Headmistress says, it don't hurt to give these types another extra taste. Isn't that right, <em>Fusty?"</em></p><p>Silence greeted his question... until the abrupt sound of metal violently striking metal rang out, causing Hermione to involuntarily wince. "Blast it, I told yeh to answer me when I speak ter yeh, filthy slug!"</p><p><em>Great Godric, </em> <em> <strong>how</strong> </em> <em> can this be Hagrid? </em></p><p>Hermione's heart twisted painfully, longing more than ever for the world from which she'd vanished only a half day earlier, even if the Second Wizarding War had still been in its final stages. As she drew up alongside the edge of the wall bordering the courtyard, she struggled to swallow, and took a breath.</p><p>
  <em>No time for that now. Get through one second at a time. You're going to get yourself home eventually, I promise. </em>
</p><p>Forcing aside her homesickness, she tried to decide exactly what she was going to do now that she'd reached her intended destination. She dearly wished she had a pair of Fred and George's Extendible Ears as a low, muffled response to Hagrid's demand finally came. It must not have been what he'd wanted to hear, because without a moment's pause, Hagrid howled, "<em>Crucio!"</em></p><p>In her survivalist-tense exhaustion, the word slammed into Hermione like a sledgehammer, triggering a shot of adrenaline through her body. For a moment, her mind ricocheted back to Malfoy Manor as Bellatrix Lestrange perched over her screeching the same curse and laughing manically. </p><p>Just as quickly, the distant sound of a sharp but muffled intake of breath here in the present brought her back to her sense of self. Incredibly, it wasn't a scream.</p><p>Hermione had never heard of anyone withstanding the Crutiatus Curse without a sound.</p><p>Her body turned to ice, though her temples throbbed with renewed vigor. In Malfoy Manor, she would have given anything, <em>anything</em>, for someone to spare her of that pain, even if only for a moment. It was neither Ron nor Harry's fault that they hadn't, locked away in the dungeon as they had been, for what seemed like hours. </p><p>But there were no bars separating Hermione from whoever was being persecuted in the courtyard right now... though she would surely be severely risking her own exposure if she tried to do anything to help them.</p><p>Heart pounding, Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her ear to the cold stone alongside her, praying fervently that Hagrid's unfortunate target had simply passed out. Her heart sank when, sound amplified though the solid medium, she heard a jerky rattling of what could have been chains and another soft, choking gasp, hardly audible over Hagrid's and Filch's raucous laughter.</p><p>They were still conscious. And they were being tortured.</p><p>Ice turned to heat that burned through her body, searing away the panicked echoes of her months-ago experience with that same torment.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, sod my stupid cover! I can't let this go on anymore!</em>
</p><p>Steeling herself with a quick breath, Hermione flung her head and wand arm around the edge of the wall and took quick but critical aim at the first thing she saw: the towering, instantly recognizable bulk of Hagrid.</p><p>"<em>Oppugno avis!" </em>she hissed.</p><p>Instantly, at least four dozen small, yellow birds exploded from her wand. Screeching, they shot toward the two men like brightly colored missiles locked upon a target; in less than three seconds, Hagrid and Filch were swallowed entirely by the cloud of canaries, the birds' shrieking racket enough to drown out any bellowed obscenities... not to mention the concentration required to hold the Cruciatus Curse on a victim.</p><p>Hermione allowed herself to sag minutely in relief before she quickly did a hall check over her shoulder to ensure the sudden din hadn't drawn any extra company. Satisfied they were still alone, she grimly turned her gaze back to the courtyard and counted to thirty... slowly.</p><p>Once yellow feathers actually began flying through the air around the melee, she pointedly flicked her wand and sent all 48 of the things swarming toward the grounds, but held them tauntingly within visual - and auditory - range.</p><p>Filch stumbled to his feet, his once-brown coat splattered with white splotches and a positively shambolic amount of feathers. "Bleedin', bloody, <em>buggering</em> bollocks–"</p><p>"Birds're a bloody menace!" Hagrid grunted furiously, red-faced and wheezing as he spat yellow fluff from his mouth.</p><p>In any other scenario, the scene would have been absolutely uproarious. Now, Hermione's gaze was simply drawn immediately to what appeared to be a cage behind Hagrid -- until Filch, still cursing vehemently, flung a large, dirty sheet over it, blocking her view. </p><p>Thankfully, the birds' continued heckling of the two wizards' fragile male egos intervened. Before Filch could get out another round of 'buggering bollockses,' Hagrid easily grabbed the much smaller man by the collar and stabbed his finger toward the Forbidden Forest.</p><p>"Go down'a my hut an' bring me som'a that bird killer potion, or whatever else down there that'll work for som'min like this." Brandishing a wand, he shoved Filch toward the courtyard's small, stone-arched entrance to the grounds and shouted after him, "I'll trail 'em 'til yeh get back!"</p><p>The ground actually shook as Hagrid crashed out of the arch.</p><p>Hermione watched his departure with renewed astonishment: Since his expulsion as a child, Hagrid had never been allowed to have a wand or perform extensive magic, let alone an Unforgivable Curse. But with history as upended in Universe B as it was, she didn't doubt Tom Riddle would've had a better chance of being expelled from Hogwarts than Hagrid, had the two ever gotten in a confrontation.</p><p>The sudden, sweet sound of silence, broken only by the cheerful sound of trickling water, some distant bellows from Hagrid, and the faint buzz of late-summer insects nudged her onward. Warily, she scanned her immediate surrounds. Several flickering torches lined the verdant courtyard's stone walls, casting warm light on a few bench slabs, a central fountain shooting a graceful arc of water from the mouth of a magnificently carved dragon... and the waist-high, rectangular-shaped object that Filch had covered.</p><p>The quiet felt eerie when one considered there was something – <em>someone</em> – alive under the dark, ripped cloth.</p><p>Cautiously, she made her way to it across the grassy expanse, her senses on full alert. In all honesty, she wasn't quite sure <em>what</em> she would find beneath it. Whoever it was, Hagrid had called them a 'fusty,' which she recalled was the insult leveled toward the vanquished conservative insurgents here - those supposedly on the 'good side.'</p><p>But what if even the 'good' people of this universe weren't really good at all? What if everyone, <em>everyone,</em> was in some way corrupted by the Dark Arts, or morally bereft?</p><p>Her nervousness increased as she stopped directly in front of the covered cage. Holding her breath, she reached down, gingerly grasping the edge of the rough material. As quickly as she began to pull it off, she hesitated, her grip tightening on the worn fabric.</p><p><em>Oh, come </em>on,<em> Hermione! You've escaped Death Eaters; you've been through a </em>war<em>... You can handle whatever's beneath this.</em><em><br/></em></p><p>The thought wasn't exactly comforting, but it was enough.</p><p>Clenching her jaw and her wand for good measure, Hermione steeled herself and flipped back the cover.</p><p>Her heart lurched to her throat.</p><p>Before she could stop herself, her hand leapt to her mouth to desperately restrain the contents of her stomach that abruptly threatened to hurl from it.</p><p>Within the long, thick bars of what was definitely a cage, something alive also started violently in equal surprise, swiftly curling chained, bloody legs in toward itself in what was most likely the only defensive action it could manage.</p><p>And it was human.</p><p>Hermione stared down at the man before her in unutterable horror. Nearly every part of his visible body was one ugly purple and blue bruise, more welts, gashes, and discolorations lining what skin she could see that wasn't covered with chains, mud or blood. His face was blackened with grime, the left side of it swelled to an abnormal size, the right so bruised she was positive she could see individual finger marks on the battered skin.</p><p>For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.</p><p>The person on the other side of the bars, for his part, looked rather frozen in place as well, his entire face utterly exhausted as he mutely returned her shaken gaze with an unmistakeable pair of pale gray eyes.</p><p>What seemed like weeks ago but was in fact only hours, Hermione had seen him shooting curses at Order members during the final battle.</p><p>"<em>Malfoy?"</em> she gasped in a hushed whisper, blinking in shock as her eyes raked over his form once again.</p><p>Were it not for those eyes, she would have never recognized him.</p><p>This Draco Malfoy's appearance was as far a cry from the impeccably-groomed, aristocratic Draco Malfoy of Universe A as possibly conceivable. Dressed in nothing but literally tattered rags, he was absolutely filthy, covered in grime and Merlin only knew what else, more gaunt than the Draco Malfoy of her world had been even near the end of sixth year, his trademark blond hair unshorn and matted dark with dirt and blood.</p><p>"<em>Draco</em> Malfoy?" she repeated dumbly, unable to reconcile the awfulness of seeing a familiar face so horrendously beaten, no matter how much of a git he'd been in her world. Hermione had seen unspeakable horrors while running from Voldemort, while fighting off tens of Death Eaters and Snatchers, but in this universe, it wasn't even <em>wartime,</em> and she again found herself asking the same heartbreaking question that she had repeated far, far too many times in her relatively short nineteen years:</p><p><em>Sweet Morgana, how can anyone do this to another human being? How can anyone do this to </em>any <em>living thing?</em></p><p>In one fell swoop, everything that had built up inside her since yesterday night, when she, Harry and Ron had finally rejoined with the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix and <em>knew</em> the final battle could very well be upon them, surged within her - every hysterical, panicked, overwhelming emotion that she had desperately tried to suppress both from that fierce rollercoaster of a fight for their lives and her subsequent abandonment in this foreign, terrifying universe.</p><p>She allowed it to tear wildly at her mind for no more than five seconds before she quashed it even more ruthlessly than she had in the tense, breathless moments before the final battle began.</p><p>What remained inside her in its wake felt cold, and completely numb.</p><p>In absolute exhaustion, she sank to her knees in the thick, dewy grass beside the cage, mechanically observing the way Malfoy's arms were awkwardly pulled behind him, as if restrained.</p><p>The subjugation she'd read about only minutes earlier abruptly became horrifically real.</p><p>This might have been Draco Malfoy, it was true, but he was still a person. Not only that, he had fought with the people who were supposed to be <em>good</em> in this Universe. Was this what had happened to them all?</p><p>"Who did this to you?" she whispered.</p><p>In response, Malfoy's split, bloodied lips wordlessly parted slightly, his first movement in at least a minute, his breaths audibly growing more ragged, his indecipherable gray stare never leaving hers.</p><p>Ronáld.</p><p><em>Ronáld</em> had done this, she realized, a rush of hatred toward her best friend's degenerate Universe B counterpart sweeping through her system with a ferocity that surprised even her. Both Hagrid and Filch had referred to someone called 'His Lordship' who had already taught Malfoy a lesson, and "Lord" Ronáld Weasley owned Malfoy.</p><p>And she was supposed to pretend to be his girlfriend.</p><p>She was supposed to believe in what <em>they</em> believed in.</p><p>But who could even pretend to believe in this?</p><p>
  <em>How can I live in this world?</em>
</p><p>Suddenly, Malfoy's swollen lips parted once more, and Hermione was jerked back to the waking nightmare that had inexplicably engulfed her.</p><p>"Lady... Evans," he croaked hoarsely, his incomprehensible gaze swiftly dropping toward the cage floor. "What-– "</p><p>Abruptly, his shoulders lurched forward as a ragged cough burst from his mouth. Concern flooded her as he turned his face into his far shoulder, coughing roughly against it, and she instinctively reached toward him - to do what, she didn't know - but she quickly drew her fingers away a moment before they could brush the metal bars, suspecting he wouldn't welcome any form of touch after what he'd clearly experienced at the hands of others.</p><p>Through her hesitation, Malfoy's coughs faded. He swallowed visibly, briefly closing his eyes, before he attempted verbalization again. "Come for a - bit more – fun at my... expense, have you?" he rasped in broken speech, his voice either gravelly with disuse or over-use. As if, even though he had hardly made a sound during the Crutiatus Curse, somewhere, sometime in the relatively recent past, he'd been screaming for hours.</p><p>It took considerable effort to force the ghastly conjecture from her mind, but it was quickly replaced by another equally horrid one. What did he mean, 'Come for a bit <em>more</em> fun at my expense?' Had she – or My – done something to him before?</p><p>Swiftly, Hermione offered up a small prayer that <em>she</em> hadn't been the one who had inflicted this abuse on him, though she somehow doubted it: her impression of My was that of a selfish, spoiled, and somewhat idiotic girl who wouldn't want to get her hands dirty. But even still…</p><p>For the second time that day, Hermione Granger had absolutely no idea of what to say.</p><p>She finally managed to bury her nausea and choke out an intelligible response. "I haven't, actually," she answered softly. Her eyes landed on the lock to the cage's door. Though she expected not even a daft halfwit would have put a simple lock on the cage that held their<em> slave, </em>she nonetheless aimed her wand at the lock. "Alohomora!"</p><p>Nothing happened. <em>Bugger all, of course it's specialized,</em> she thought, seething.</p><p>Malfoy finally lifted his head again, his tangled hair loosely falling into his face, a far cry from the usual slickness that was typically favored by him rather than Ron. As his tired, red-rimmed eyes impassively followed her motions, the lifelessness in them unexpectedly began to glimmer with the tiniest sprig of emotion. Hermione suspected that it was either bewilderment or confusion. Or both.</p><p>"You can't... open it, you know," he suddenly murmured, the few, gravelly words voiced in a heavy, wholly defeated tone that she had never dreamed she would hear pass the arrogant and proud Draco Malfoy's lips. "Though - it's... rather nice of you for trying."</p><p>Any sneering contempt seemed to have been replaced entirely by an almost unnatural, exhausted evenness she had never heard from someone her own age, but was unnervingly reminiscent of Remus Lupin's voice:</p><p>One that had experienced a lifetime of suffering.</p><p>Hermione shook herself from the deeply unsettling comparison and turned back to the task at hand. Calculatingly, she regarded the lock with narrowed eyes before glancing back at him through the bars. "What kind of alteration did that <em>weasel</em> of a redhead put on it?" she practically spat out, her eyes darkening the instant the very thought of Ronáld re-entered her mind.</p><p>Malfoy's gaze flew toward her. "You'd - I'm to... answer?" he croaked out after a moment, the smallest tinge of bafflement shining through his even voice.</p><p>"Yes, that <em>might</em> be helpful!" she responded more forcefully than she'd intended, unable to keep her anger at the monstrous <em>filth</em> that was this world's version of Ron Weasley from escaping her lips. To her horror, Malfoy instantly flinched and shrank away from her as if her words had physically lacerated him, poorly concealed dread flooding his injured features.</p><p>Guilt wrenched at her chest.</p><p>
  <em>Bloody Morgana, Hermione, he's clearly been imprisoned by a sadist for months, possibly years! You can't just raise your voice at him! </em>
</p><p>She lifted a shaking hand to her forehead and let out a breath. "Malfoy, I'm sorry; it isn't you I'm angry with," she said, desperately hoping she hadn't destroyed his willingness to speak with her.</p><p>His heavy stare didn't move from where it'd landed on his knees, his hunched shoulders tense. After several seconds, he choked out hoarsely, "Auditory," and again began coughing softly.</p><p>"Of course, aural-targeted locks," Hermione muttered, nodding as she re-familiarized herself with the rather standard security charm addition that would only open if Ronáld's or Ginevra's voice commanded it to. There weren't many ways to circumvent it short of being the person for whom the charm had been tailored, or using Polyjuice Potion, of course… if an alarm hadn't been set up to ward against such deception, which it very easily could have been.</p><p>She frustratedly raked a hand through her abnormally smooth hair. <em>Anyway, even if you</em> would<em> have gotten it open, what then?</em> she thought sardonically.<em> Free him and run away into the night?</em></p><p>Somehow, she doubted escape would be that easy. And, anyway, she still couldn't quite yet sort out how different this man was from her version of Draco Malfoy, or whether he was a good person, even, a person here she might actually be able to trust… save for his eyes.</p><p>Even unreadable as they were, his eyes were filled with more benign emotion than she'd ever seen in Draco Malfoy's eyes.</p><p>Hermione analytically shifted her gaze back toward the blond wizard, and started slightly when she found he was already surveying her in a surprisingly perspicacious manner. She couldn't blame him, and could only imagine she wasn't acting at all like My Evans usually did, either. He swiftly averted his searching gaze, shifting with a small wince, the clinking noise of metal scraping against metal accompanying even this small motion.</p><p>Compassion shot through her heart, jarring her from the lingering shock that was dulling her responses more than she would like. What was she doing, staring at Malfoy like this was an awkward social call? This man didn't need her dumbstruck gaping, he needed medical attention, and that - <em>that</em> - was something she could actually-</p><p>A deep, hearty but not at all comforting chuckle rang out in the not-so-far distance, sending an electric shot of adrenaline through every nerve in her body.</p><p>"-uddy birds won't be a problem anymore, that's fer sure."</p><p>
  <em>Sod it! </em>
</p><p>Hermione leapt to her feet, while Malfoy stiffened as well, jerking back against the bars of the cage. Instantly, he sucked in a short, pained gasp, which quickly turned into a hacking cough that he desperately tried to muffle.</p><p>Instinct screamed at her to run. Instead, biting her lip so hard she would surely draw blood, Hermione crouched back down at the side of the enclosure. "Malfoy. What hurts the most?" she whispered urgently, ignoring her mind's panicked chants of <em>Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!</em></p><p>For a moment, Malfoy's gaze listlessly shifted in her direction without quite finding her face. Then, as if her words had just sunk in, he suddenly repeated swiftly between coughs, "What -<em> What?"</em></p><p>He squinted up at her without bothering to hide the disbelief scrawled across his features.</p><p>"I want to help you," Hermione said, hastily glancing through the archway out of the courtyard and the narrow view of the grounds it gave. Nothing yet, but Hagrid's vociferous complaints were getting louder and louder...</p><p>Looking back down at him, she enunciated lowly but clearly, "You're obviously injured; please tell me: where is it most painful?"</p><p>Malfoy abruptly went still beneath her gaze, lips parting slightly. His clearly exhausted gray eyes suddenly filled with so much tangible, overwhelmingly perceptible emotion that Hermione felt the strange sensation she was being given a rare view directly into another human being's very soul… and that what she was seeing there was the farthest thing from wicked.</p><p>Abruptly, her own eyes filled with tears.</p><p>This was not the Draco Malfoy she had known. This was a good person. She knew it… she could <em>sense</em> it.</p><p>And they had tortured him.</p><p>But before she could speak or even think of something to say, to ask, to <em>offer,</em> his vision shuttered as quickly as it had opened, leaving her at a very well-guarded wall. "My… back," he whispered, his gaze briefly searching hers before he looked away.</p><p>Her lips tugged into a frown. She could name about thirty other injuries <em>not </em>on his back that appeared absolutely excruciating, but she nodded and drew her wand nonetheless, praying that Hagrid moved as slowly in this world as he did in hers. "Show me. Hurry."</p><p>Raw fear that pierced something deep inside her sprang to his expression, but Malfoy haltingly bowed his head away and, clenching his jaw, awkwardly shifted around until he was facing away from her. Hermione narrowly restrained another hot wave of anger when saw his hands were indeed chained behind him, the grimy skin around and beneath the tight bindings bleeding and rubbed raw...</p><p>But none of it mattered the instant she looked at his back. Through the many jagged tears in the tattered, blood-soaked material that was his clothing, it was impossible to miss the multiple bloody, inflamed lines crisscrossing the bruised skin.</p><p>Whip lashes.</p><p>It brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes and the desperate urge to be sick.</p><p>His right cheek pressed against the bars of the far side of the cage in an attempt to keep himself upright, Malfoy's gaze wordlessly slid sideways as if trying to gauge her reaction through his peripheral vision, his chest raggedly rising and falling more quickly.</p><p>"Right. I'll take care of it," Hermione choked out after her heart had begun beating again.</p><p>She inhaled a sharp, short breath to steady herself and lowered her wand on the torn skin. Malfoy visibly tensed, closing his eyes, which led her to wonder if he expected the spell that she would utter to be more along the lines of something 'fun at his expense' rather than one that would heal a part of his pain.</p><p>To squelch his doubts, Hermione nonverbally performed a fast healing spell, one of many she'd picked up during the war. A soft orange glow settled over his rough clothing, if it could even be called that. The cuts and welts covering his back quickly vanished, leaving in their place nothing but thin, deep scars that Hermione, unfortunately, could not prevent without the help of an actual healing potion. On second thought, she hurriedly added another incantation to clear his lungs of any invasive fluid that might have been behind his cough.</p><p>As the glow soaked into his skin and then faded completely, Malfoy's eyes flew open. Slowly, he looked down at his chest and visibly, experimentally took a deep breath. Hermione held her own, then released it with a weak, relieved smile when he didn't start coughing.</p><p>Slumping against the bars, the Slytherin twisted back toward her. His glistening eyes held an unexpected, unreadable intensity that caught her completely off guard, that she had only seen in the eyes of <em>her </em>Harry, and even that occurred only very rarely.</p><p>"I don't understand," he whispered hoarsely, true emotion breaking up the defeated levelness of his voice.</p><p>Something about that moment caused Hermione to believe more firmly than ever that she was not at all dealing with the same Draco Malfoy that she had once slapped and despised.</p><p>She stared back down at him, her eyes still reflecting her horror at the violence inflicted upon him. "That makes two of us," she managed to breathe.</p><p>"- take care 'a this runt up here an' then we're done fer the night!"</p><p>Abruptly, another bark of laughter rang out from just beyond the courtyard wall. Without another word, Hermione flung the discarded cloth cover over Malfoy's cage and sprang to her feet, casting a swift Disillusionment Charm on herself so anyone with an untrained eye who looked in her direction would only see whatever was behind her.</p><p>As she'd hoped, neither Hagrid nor Filch were Mad-Eye Moody material, as neither detected her presence in the middle of the courtyard when they came into sight, nearly to the crest of the thankfully dramatically long climb back up to the castle.</p><p>"Keep this secret, Malfoy," she whispered lowly to the rectangular-shaped cloth.</p><p>It wasn't much of a command, but it was all she had to rely on. Though any response that might have come from the cage was drowned out by the animated conversation marking Hagrid and Filch's return, she had a sneaking suspicion that he probably wasn't going to go running to his 'Master' about My Evans' suddenly advanced magical healing ability.</p><p>Silently, Hermione carefully backed away from the center of the courtyard, quickening her retreat as Hagrid proficiently flicked a wand at Malfoy's prison and said, <em>"Locomotor</em> cage!"</p><p>At Hagrid's effective use of wand magic, she couldn't help but shoot another startled glance his way. Everything here, wherever 'here' was, was<em> so bloody different...</em> how would she learn enough about this place to survive like one of <em>them </em>without ending up in a cage just like Malfoy was?</p><p><em>No, Hermione,</em> she countered firmly. <em>There's got to be a way out of here, and you're going to find it and take it. You're going survive, and you're going to get home.</em></p><p>Despite the determined vow, Malfoy's battered face flashed through her mind like he was still directly in front of her, staring at her with those unfathomable eyes loaded with more benevolent emotion than any other person she'd yet encountered in this world, let alone the Draco Malfoy of her own universe.</p><p>Clenching her hands, she fought tears, swallowing back yet another urge to vomit. Sweet Morgana, his treatment was horrendous - <em>horrendous!</em> Had all Light witches and wizards been condemned to the same level of abuse? <em>Why?</em> Why did the obvious victors need to be so horrific, so cruel to people who sounded like they'd never really had much of a chance to begin with?</p><p>But once Hermione returned to the shadowed castle hallways, basic escape and evasion instincts took precedence over her troubled thoughts… and, clutching the yearbook, she ran for the Head common room without looking back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Moving Statue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's been wonderful to hear from many readers who have followed Reverse in years past!! Wishing you all a wonderful holiday weekend for those who celebrate Easter/Passover, or are simply celebrating the arrival of spring or fall, depending on your location in the world.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moment she was safely within the depths of the castle and away from the delivery courtyard, Hermione swerved down a corridor leading to the dungeons. She nearly let out a shriek when she came face-to-face with an eerily life-like vampire statue. Heart racing, she gasped, placing a hand on her heaving chest before she gritted her teeth and hastily ducked into the niche behind the statue, just to be safe: A minute earlier, she was convinced she'd heard a muffled scream from beyond the walls nearby.</p><p>In the protective shadows the hulking statue lent, she refocused her attention on the yearbook and breathlessly flipped through it, nearly dropping it twice in her haste to find what she was looking for.</p><p>
  <em>Ravenclaw… Ravenclaw... Hufflepuff… Hufflepuff … Hufflepuff… Gryffindor… Gryffindor… Gryffindor… </em>
  <em>
    <strong>Gryffindor?</strong>
  </em>
  <em> - Good Merlin, you'd think there's only one House; I can take a fair guess as to where all the first years want to be sorted… Gryffindor </em>
  <em>
    <strong>again, </strong>
  </em>
  <em>great Godric…</em>
</p><p>Suddenly, a flash of green passed her eye, and she swiftly caught the page.</p><p>
  <em>Ah-ha.</em>
</p><p>The section was miniscule compared to half a book of red and gold, with the remainder devoted to the other Houses... as if the yearbook editor had done their best to obliterate any evidence of this particular House's existence altogether.</p><p>Quickly, she shifted the rather bulky book in her arms and whispered, "Lumos-"</p><p>" 'ey, Macmillan! Is it true you managed to snuff a Firestorm out of the parents?"</p><p>"Damn straight I did. Got an extra one, too, if anyone else on the team wants one, so my Gringotts account is open for offers -"</p><p><em>If only I had Harry's Invisibility Cloak! </em>Hermione thought in frustration as the mature voices echoed down the corridor, signifying that the Welcome Feast must have come to an end. Quickly extinguishing her wandlight, she pressed herself deeper into the wall behind the vampire, still under the Disillusionment Charm, as a group of older Hufflepuffs noisily passed, Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley at the centre.</p><p>"--going to <em>murder </em>the Ravenclaws with Kendy out, Chang and Boot don't even have a Firebolt; can you imagine?"</p><p>…and not sounding much like the patient, kind, and gentle Hufflepuffs of her world, either.</p><p>Hermione let out the breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding when they made it to the far end of the hall. A second later, her wand was lit and her eyes were on the yearbook again, perusing the sole two pages – the front and back of a single page – dedicated to the House of Slytherin.</p><p>Even with the few group pictures it held, though, it was instantly obvious that there was something very different about this House from the arrogant smirks and wicked grins and cold glares from much of Gryffindor and also Hufflepuff.</p><p>The Slytherins looked truly happy.</p><p>Hermione scanned the student photos. Many included people she was used to seeing with a sneer or scowl or a hateful expression, but now, the only feeling the images gave – was positively radiating from them, actually - was that of pure genuineness. Bright, true smiles lit the faces of most Slytherins, save a few first and second years who were impishly making faces at the camera, and a few older students who, tellingly, just looked tired.</p><p>And these overall happy students – no matter that they had been pricks in her world; it was clear to her that they were very different here, and <em>she </em>was the prick – were now being treated worse than the most oppressed of beasts or beings.</p><p>Hermione didn't want to imagine what it was like to be a House-Wizard or House-Witch in a Dark Arts-fueled totalitarian wizarding world. Frankly, she hadn't the foggiest idea – it wasn't as if she'd had any need to learn the intricacies of slavery-type bonds in her world. Not only had they been outlawed since 1797, she had simply been too engrossed in learning every bit of information and incantations that she, Harry, and Ron would need to survive, both in a war and out of one.</p><p>Her gaze were drawn to a small group picture at the bottom of the page, recognizably taken outside The Three Broomsticks in the thick of winter. In it were none other than a fifth year Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and Draco Malfoy.</p><p>The loop showed Malfoy sneaking up behind the dark skinned boy and dumping a pile of snow on his head. Pansy took one look at the expression of utter indignance that instantly exploded across Blaise's face and started laughing, particularly when Malfoy narrowly avoided a somewhat violently thrown snowball á là Blaise. He wisely scooted around Pansy, chortling, and caught her up in a bear hug from behind to shield himself from Blaise's attack. This, incidentally, only caused her to laugh harder and try to wriggle from his grasp, but in the end all three of them fell in a heap on the snowy ground, laughing wildly, and then the photographic loop began again.</p><p>An hour ago, the animation of three teenagers Hermione had always known as nothing but 'pompous gits' - in Ron's words - may have surprised her. But after her encounter with Malfoy, Hermione doubted there was much left that had the power to catch her off guard anymore.</p><p>She lost track of the time she simply stood there, staring at the image, unable to quell the overwhelming wave of biliousness and absolute isolation that had swept through her with alarming strength. It reminded her so much of <em>her </em>Ron and <em>her </em>Harry, and the world that she had been inexplicably ripped from…</p><p>To here. A living hell of nothing but darkness in which the people she loved had turned into the very people she had been fighting against; here, where she doubted an ounce of good even <em>existed -</em> or at least not one that wasn't tossed into a cellar and chained away.</p><p>Finally, Hermione briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them again, forcing herself to study the photo more closely for anymore clues to differences between her world and this one. This Blaise sported a wild head of natural curls that was very unlike the Blaise of Universe A, but she didn't know him well enough to make comparisons beyond that.</p><p>Pansy, however, was a different story. Her face wasn't twisted into the judgmental, haughty scowl or smirk she'd always worn in Hermione's world. With said girl smiling in a surprisingly shy manner, Hermione was struck by the unexpected glow of understated beauty about her.</p><p>Somewhat hesitantly, Hermione moved on to the last member of what must have been a trio. His graphically beaten form was still hauntingly fresh in her mind, which was why looking down at the Draco Malfoy of three years ago was like looking at a completely different person.</p><p>Instead of being snarled dark with muck and blood, Malfoy's white-blond hair was loose, locks of it falling messily into his eyes, which were sparkling in a mischievous, curiously Dumbledore-esque manner. His pale features, flushed from the cold, were completely relaxed and comfortable despite the fact that Blaise was in hot pursuit, an easy smile on his face rather than a smirk.</p><p>Save for his distinct gray eyes and fair hair, he hardly resembled the great bouncing ferret of her world, let alone the battered, captive young man she had seen less than fifteen minutes earlier.</p><p>Breathing hard, Hermione slammed the yearbook shut and leaned her head back against the cold stone wall, finally allowing her exhausted eyes to close. She had absolutely no desire to see anymore pictures of laughing individuals when she knew that the light in their eyes had most certainly been snuffed out since.</p><p>But a low, scraping noise, as if stone was grinding against stone, rudely interrupted her brief moment of tranquility.</p><p>Her eyes flew open. Swiftly, she temporarily vanished the yearbook and looked around her in a futile attempt to locate the source of the sudden sound.</p><p>
  <em>What on -<br/></em>
</p><p>Suddenly, inches beside her, the vampire statue itself slowly began to move.</p><p>Hermione let out a muffled squeak of surprise and leapt out of the niche into the deserted hallway. The statue wouldn't be moving unless someone was going to emerge from it – someone who, most likely, wasn't on Hermione's side. Whatever room or passage the vampire statue covered, it wasn't on the Marauder's Map, and Hermione didn't quite fancy the thought of being caught and Obliviated in the name of secrecy, even if she convinced them she'd only stumbled across it accidentally.</p><p>In her utter exhaustion, the memory of her Disillusionment cover flew from her mind. She had never more clearly felt the absence of Harry's Invisibility Cloak, she desperately searched for another statue or <em>anything</em> she could duck behind... but only bare stone walls lined the corridor save a single, closed wooden door near the far end of it that she'd never be able to reach in time.</p><p>Sweet Morgana, if only she were invisible!</p><p>
  <em>Invisible…</em>
</p><p>Hermione froze as the notion struck her. An invisibility charm, of <em>course! </em>It would be so simple…</p><p>It would be so impossible.</p><p>The main reason behind the invention of the Invisibility Cloak was because the most advanced invisibility charm - one that cloaked the wearer from even human-presence-detecting charms - was so difficult to cast that it was rarer to find a person who could complete it than a person who owned a Cloak. Many considered the Charm impractical anyway: like all magic, the spell did have its limitations, and performing any other magic while under its influence would effectively cancel the invisibility and nullify the spell. Even still, Hermione had attempted it a number of times after the Golden Trio had fled Hogwarts their seventh year, but it was one of the few high-level charms she'd never been able to execute successfully.</p><p>Despite that, Hermione mentally ran through the nonverbal charm, her pulse pounding loudly in her ears.</p><p>As the twisting vampire came to a halt, revealing a gaping black hole in the stone floor beneath it, Hermione quickly inhaled several breaths and squeezed her eyes shut, swiftly turning her wand on herself. Deliberately, systematically, she summoned her store of magic until she felt it humming through her veins. As the sound of a woman's voice became audible, Hermione channeled that power toward a single, unspoken incantation with all the will she possessed.</p><p>
  <em>OCCAECO!</em>
</p><p>"- waste of time and space. Be <em>done</em> with him already, for Merlin's sake! With all due respect, I have more things to do with my staff than trying to keep him functional enough to answer the Phoenix's questions."</p><p><em>Please work, please work, sweet </em>Morgana<em> please work…</em></p><p>Swiftly, Hermione opened her eyes in time to see an almost unrecognizable Minerva McGonagall climbing from the gap in the floor, as if there were stairs beneath it, a pointed wizard's hat in hand. Stepping aside and straightening richly-designed, very clearly marked Headmistress robes, she absently threw a glance in Hermione's direction… and looked straight through her.</p><p>Hermione's shoulders slumped. Letting out a soft breath, she briefly closed her eyes in amazement and relief, the fingers of her wand hand still warm and tingling with magic. The spell had <em>worked!</em></p><p>The knowledge that she could finally perform the wizarding world's most advanced invisibility charm lifted unspeakable pressure from her shoulders. So minuscule a percentage of the population could produce eighth-level charmwork that it wasn't even taught in NEWT-level courses, and most security wards (ironically) almost never guarded against it. As long as this wasn't simply a one-off, she could at least rest easy in the expectation she'd be able to maneuver the castle safely and covertly in the very likely event she would need to.</p><p>Feeling a bit giddy and rather pleased with herself, Hermione's gaze shifted back across the hallway, studying this world's iteration of her former Head of House. McGonagall's face looked startlingly younger and much less wrinkled, almost as if she'd had Muggle plastic surgery. Hermione mentally chuckled at the idea, but the fact that McGonagall did appear less aged remained nonetheless, her hair now smoothly down and framing her face in a sleek, unbelievably chic Pageboy cut instead of a severe bun, the gray dyed pure silver.</p><p>Curiosity kept Hermione in place as McGonagall continued to speak to a slender figure draped in a black, hooded cloak who was also ascending from the new, well-guarded passageway. "It's been fourteen years, and he still hasn't said any words you want to hear. Somehow, I don't think you're going to get much more -"</p><p>Abruptly, the cloaked person held up a hand. Hermione was surprised when McGonagall actually obeyed the motion and stopped talking, looking more concerned than exasperated. "My lady, what – "</p><p>"I… felt something, a second ago," a younger, throaty but feminine voice slowly said in a sultry, breathy tone that sounded very much like the one Hermione was trying to feign. The unknown woman's head fluidly twisted toward the very area where Hermione stood. "Something… <em>powerful.</em> Something dangerous."</p><p>Despite this assertion, the woman seemed eerily calm.</p><p>The 'I-am-untouchable' attitude that the invisibility charm had inadvertently conjured in Hermione's mind quickly began to fade at the unconcealed authority dripping from the woman's low purr as she continued, "Something that I haven't felt here in a long time, Minerva.</p><p>Something in her voice sent a jolt of terror into Hermione's heart, even though she knew they couldn't possibly see her. She recognized that tone. It was troublingly intelligent - dark, calculating - just like Voldemort would always be before he –</p><p>
  <em>Bloody Morgana!</em>
</p><p>Her heart pounding wildly, Hermione instinctively fell to her knees and then flat to the ground a split second before the woman unexpectedly flung the point of her wand toward the spot where Hermione's head had been a heartbeat before. <em>"SPECIALIS REVELIO!"</em></p><p>The force behind the spell was so powerful that it slammed into the wall behind Hermione with a resounding <em>Crack!, </em>instantly charring the stones around the impact point black and sending a shower of sparks cascading down around her.</p><p>In the pause that followed, Hermione gasped in a silent breath of relief, clutching at the cobblestone floor. Looking up again, she desperately tried to see the cloaked woman's features, but the long, draping hood blocked all visibility of them except a slender, pale jawline leading to a pair of deeply red lips that were currently pursed in the same manner Hermione's own did whenever she was deep in thought.</p><p><em>Holy Mother of Merlin. Who </em>is <em>this?</em></p><p>Apparently, not sharing the woman's concern nor her heightened senses, McGonagall asked, "Are you satisfied?" She reached over into the vampire statue's gaping mouth, maneuvering her hand between two fangs and briefly holding it somewhere behind them with a mutter of, <em>"Intercido."</em></p><p>As the statue again rumbled to life and shifted back over the dark slice in the floor below it, the cloaked figure's head cocked slightly in Hermione's direction. "Hm," she said coolly. Ignoring the Headmistress's question and the fact that she had just damaged Hogwarts property, she crisply turned on her heel and briskly strode off down the hall. "Must have been nothing."</p><p>For as offhandedly as she had thrown out the words, Hermione didn't think she sounded entirely convinced.</p><p>
  <em>Lovely. I've been here for little more than six hours, and I've already drawn a great deal of very much unwanted attention to myself. While I'm invisible, no less!</em>
</p><p>"Of course." McGonagall caught up with the other woman quickly, carefully fitting her pointed wizards' cap back over her head. "Hagrid is moving the personal House-Wizards and Witches back in today; the castle does feel out of sorts with that filth being taken about the main corridors."</p><p>The response was sharp, crisp, and detached. "Regardless, if even the slightest hint of suspicious behavior is displayed by either student, staff or otherwise, you know where to report it. We have plenty of people who specialize in… interrogation."</p><p>"Oh, the faculty and students are well aware of that, my lady; it's always best to keep a close eye on things so soon after an intervention. Do you want me to find the current password to your children's common room?"</p><p>"No. I spoke with them earlier; I have no desire to see either again for at least a month. I'll get it the next time the Sovereign wants a personal cross-examination of..."</p><p>As their voices faded around a corner and down the next hall, Hermione quickly rose to her feet, straightening her impossibly tight uniform and wincing as she rubbed her knees where she'd fallen on them. Within seconds, her eyes were drawn back to the point at which the woman's spell and the wall had collided.</p><p>It was still smoking.</p><p>Gripping her wand with a shaking hand, Hermione abruptly took a rapid step backward, and then another, until she was blindly backing down the hallway in the opposite direction that McGonagall and the woman had walked. Of course, she had guessed this ruling Sovereignty had to have been intelligent and vicious to have so unconditionally suppressed both Conservative rebellions, but to actually <em>witness</em> that power was another thing entirely. What she had just seen and heard had scared her more than she expected it would, more than reading about the upturned history of this world, more than seeing how terribly Draco Malfoy was being treated, and almost more than seeing how different Ronáld and Harry and Ginevra were from her beloved versions of them.</p><p>For all of Hermione's knowledge and talent and the power it gave her, she was only one person. In her world, even in the midst of the war, she'd always had someone beside her, whether it was Harry or Ron, or one of her classmates, or the Weasleys, or the Order of the Phoenix.</p><p>Now, were she to be picked out or suspected as a Light supporter, whether by an automatic display of repugnance at the cruel mistreatment of any human being or magical creature, by a slight slip of her mannerisms, or by even the slightest hesitance to act like <em>they </em>did… she had no one.</p><p>She was nothing but a tiny, solitary pinhead of light in a pitch black Great Hall, and if she wasn't vigilant of her words and actions during every every second of every day, the humane, intelligent beliefs with which she had been raised and cherished deeply could very well get her 'interrogated.'</p><p>Or killed.</p><hr/><p>As Harry had alluded earlier, the painting that covered the entrance to the Head common room was a still life of a rather chilling night scene of the Forbidden Forest, and was therefore unable to relay a message to whoever was inside.</p><p>Hermione stared at the canvas for at least a minute before she gathered enough dignity to lift her hand and knock.</p><p>And knock.</p><p>And knock.</p><p>
  <em>Come on, Harry, I know you're in there.</em>
</p><p>Sighing in frustration, she unsteadily shoved a hand through unnaturally smooth, voluminous curls and blew out a shaky breath, still thoroughly shaken from her too-close-for-comfort encounter. After a moment, she lifted her hand to again pound on the wall beside the life-sized frame when an abrupt thump and subsequent painting shift revealed Harry's scowling form.</p><p>It was odd, but he really was much taller and broader than she remembered him being. Obviously peer-reviewed research might be a bit lacking, but was it possible for a person to grow more in one universe than he did in the other?</p><p>"About bloody time," he muttered, instantly turning on his heel and stalking back into the depths of the common room. He still wasn't wearing glasses - given Harry's terrible vision, he must have either been using Muggle contacts or had a procedure to repair his vision entirely. In a strange way, the physical difference helped to remind her that this wasn't the Harry she knew and loved.</p><p>Hermione decided it wouldn't be the wisest choice tell him the reason for his current irritation stemmed from her need to avoid the school's Headmistress and a high-ranking Sovereignty official after stumbling upon a particularly secret passageway and interfering with Hagrid's and Filch's apparently legal human trafficking activities.</p><p>Forcing an expression of indifference to her face, Hermione instantly changed her gait to a strut and sashayed inside after him. Although on a slightly smaller scale, the common room seemed to be modeled after Gryffindor's, complete with a crackling fireplace and a red and gold colour scheme, which probably wouldn't have been the case if either of them was in a different House.</p><p>"So sorry," she began offhandedly, lowering her voice a few notches and softening it to more of a purr so she sounded appropriately My-like - or what she <em>hoped</em> was appropriately My-like, "I simply seem to have gotten myself… turned around."</p><p>"Gotten yourself 'turned around?' " Harry scathingly echoed, stiffly pausing at the foot of the staircase up to his dorms without even looking at her. "In a school that you've attended for almost seven years, you've gotten yourself 'turned around?' " He snorted, shaking his head, and crossed his arms. "That's so like you, My. That's so like you."</p><p>For someone who'd said hardly a word on the train, not even to his girlfriend, he certainly didn't seem to have any trouble coming up with insults for her now.</p><p>"Now, now, Harry," she cooed, holding back a wince of disgust at her own tone, "We used to be <em>such</em> good friends… and now, we're practically family," she added in a sickly sweet voice, giving him a little, deliberately artificial smile in an attempt to extract any useful information from him. "Why oh <em>why</em> do you hate me so?"</p><p>Instantly, Harry's head swiveled toward her, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "No matter what sort of magic the adoptive enchantments work, you will <em>never</em> be my sister," he spat acidly, his speech unnaturally slow, as if he was doing everything possible to reign in a wave of fury. He leveled a glower of loathing at her that would have sent even Snatchers squeaking away for their lives. "And you know damn well why I hate you, I'm not about to play this game again."</p><p>Hermione refused to be intimidated. First Draco Malfoy's 'come for a bit <em>more </em>fun' comment, and now this: What had My done to <em>Harry?</em> Whatever rift was between them, she couldn't successfully pretend to be My around him if she didn't have the slightest idea of what it was.</p><p>"But you know as well as I do that I have such a terrible long-term memory," she breathed saucily, prowling up directly behind him and idly tracing her fingertips down the smooth wood of the banister. She paused in her motion and glanced up at him demurely. "Why don't you… tell me again?"</p><p>Harry briefly stared down at her, his lifeless emerald eyes suddenly dark with fury, before he yanked himself away. "Go to <em>hell,</em> Granger," he hissed. "You bloody well deserve to be there!" He spun and stormed up to his room, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him with a <em>BANG.</em></p><p>The angry sound drove a sharp pain through her chest like a knife.</p><p>In the deafening silence that followed, Hermione stared at the top of the landing. Her hammering heart abruptly ached, and tears began to sting her eyes. This man might not have been the best friend she knew so well, but he looked looked exactly like him. Hearing him spit words of detestation directly in her face hurt badly and only reminded her that she very suddenly had no one.</p><p>At least she'd played My well, Hermione supposed tiredly. The breathy, insincere, over-exaggeratedly-naïve-but-in-reality-far-from-it Marilyn Monroe type seemed to be working perfectly, but so far, all it had gotten her was that yes, she had definitely been adopted by the Evans/Potters, and yes, Harry hated her with a passion for a reason that she should apparently be well aware of.</p><p>While both the Ronáld and even Ginevra of this universe seemed to unmistakably possess sadistic characteristics, Harry didn't seem like he was entirely evil, in the worst sense of the word. He just seemed... angry. And empty. And that was really all. But if the history book was to be believed, his mother was alive in this universe. He seemed to be well-off, and a 'Lord' at that (whatever that meant). What had happened to him to cause such profound unhappiness?</p><p>Hermione shook her head in exhaustion. It was a mystery. This <em>entire world </em>was a mystery that she truly didn't want to solve, and if all went well, she hoped to Merlin she'd be out of here before she had to.</p><p>Sighing heavily, she trudged up the stairs to the Head Girl suite, unable to hold back several successive and rather massive yawns. It'd been at least 48 hours since she'd properly slept, and all she wanted was for this to be a horrible dream - well, nightmare: for her to fall asleep and wake up in the middle of the very battlefield from which she'd come.</p><p>At the thought, she nearly laughed. Imagine, that she'd rather be there, at the final battle, than safe – "safe" – at Hogwarts! It was ridiculous. This… This was all absolutely ridiculous!</p><p>Wearily removing the uncharacteristically plentiful makeup from her face with a mumbled cleaning spell, Hermione blearily stumbled to the massive bed and collapsed onto it without even bothering to turn on the light, without looking around what had become her temporary new home… without even removing her clothes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Changing Alliances</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The hunt to find a possible method for destroying Horcruxes had gone slowly but surely, just like she remembered… until the Battle of Knockturn Alley in their attempt to reach a valuable encyclopedia of ancient spells from a dodgy bookstore there.</em>
</p><p>"<em><strong>REDUCTO!" </strong></em></p><p>
  <em>Hermione blasted her way out of the shop, sending several Death Eaters flying backward as the store door slammed into them on its chaotic explosion outward. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Harry, I've got it!" she shouted over the volume of the skirmish. She shoved the book into her shrunken supply pack and lunged out of Tomes and Tonics toward her friend, who was fighting alongside Remus Lupin several yards away. "I've got it; we've got to get out of here </em>
  <em>
    <strong>now!"</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry was draped in a dark cloak in a failed attempt to hide his identity. He fired off a blue jet of magic, its incantation lost in the melee, then swiftly turned toward her and yelled in reply, "Find Ron and go! I'll be along in a min–"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His words were cut short. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>At that moment, instead of managing to dodge Snape's Sectumsempra like he had in Hermione's memory, he got caught dead in the middle of it, and his blood – his blood was suddenly everywhere.</em>
</p><p>"Harry!"<em> she screamed. </em><em>She dashed toward him, hurtling over bodies, ducking curses and blindly firing Stunning Spells at any dark form that darted into her line of vision. When she reached him she fell to her knees, her hands shaking. "Harry, Harry - Wake up. </em>Wake up!"</p><p>
  <em>But when she ripped back his hood...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The pale, lifeless face belonged not to Harry Potter, but to Draco Malfoy. </em>
</p><p>Hermione let out a muffled shriek and heaved herself straight up in bed, gasping in panicked breaths.</p><p>CRASH!</p><p>Abruptly, a very real shatter ricocheted off the walls to her right.</p><p>Hermione's frantically pounding heart nearly stopped beating, and her mind automatically whirred to the defense. Before she even realized she'd moved, her wand was in her hand, pointing in the direction from which the noise had come. The bedroom was dark, and she had absolutely no idea what time it was, but someone else was unquestionably inside.</p><p>She quickly muttered a general lighting spell, and illumination flickered to every nearby lamp and candle. She was surprised to find the luxuriously large living space extravagantly decorated in deep burgundies and violets rather than Gryffindor red: it held an opulent desk, two very oversized bureaus, a bookcase, a partially open door that seemed to lead to a large closet, and another that was likely to a toilet.</p><p>Everything was incredibly orderly… and empty.</p><p>Hermione frowned, her eyes narrowed. She definitely hadn't imagined that crash...</p><p>Just then, she heard the softest tinkling of glass beyond the opposite side of the king-sized bed.</p><p>Gripping her wand tightly, Hermione crawled out from under the covers and cautiously, silently edged across the bed on her hands and knees. The task was more difficult than she'd anticipated; with each motion the ridiculously plush mattress bobbed like a bloody trampoline. As she reached the end of the bed, however, a head appeared beyond the excessive pile of blankets Hermione had flung aside sometime during the night.</p><p>From the way both persons froze, it was difficult to tell who was more surprised: Hermione or the thin, white-faced woman whose pale countenance was even more accented by dark hair pulled back into a tight braid.</p><p>The girl from the yearbook picture.</p><p>But she was older now, with deep shadows beneath her eyes and an exhausted face that did not glow with happiness, wearing what appeared to be a rumpled, worn gray uniform. Her hands were poised, frozen, above a pile of broken glass at her knees.</p><p>It took Hermione a few seconds to register that this was Pansy Parkinson, and at least a few more to figure out how to proceed from there. She and Hermione both were vastly different people from the last time Hermione had encountered another Pansy Parkinson in this castle: now two adult women who rightfully shouldn't have even been at Hogwarts anymore.</p><p>
  <em>But why is she </em>
  <em>in</em>
  <em> my room? At seven in the morning! </em>
</p><p><em>Wait… I </em>own<em> Pansy. </em></p><p>At the thought, a sudden chill passed through her.</p><p>She remained still, partially afraid to open her mouth for fear that something intelligent would pop out. Should she pretend to be My? But if she did… Well, Pansy looked terrified. No doubt My was horrible to her, which Hermione flat-out refused to be. On the other hand, she wasn't yet prepared to trust anyone with the fact that she was someone else entirely, and someone who'd played a significant role in dealing the folding hand to the Dark Lord of her universe at that, even if Pansy was supposed to be on 'the good side.'</p><p>The words Hermione had heard the night before were still frighteningly clear in her mind:</p><p>"<em>Regardless, if even the slightest amount of suspicious behavior is displayed… you know where to report it."</em></p><p>"<em>Oh, the faculty </em>and<em> students are well aware of that…" </em></p><p>So who should she be? My? Hermione? A mix of both?</p><p>"L-Lady E-Ev-Evans, I – I'm so sorry," Pansy abruptly stammered out in a soft voice, jerking into motion as she quickly bent over the shards again. Fumbling, she began to pick up the shattered pieces with bare, shaking hands. "I h-hadn't expected you up so soon, I… I'm s-so sorry…"</p><p>Hermione's surprised mind unstuck and snapped into action. Whatever had fallen had been completely demolished. Pansy would never be able to gather up everything - and why should she, if Hermione had a wand?</p><p>In a split second, she'd made her decision. She wanted her room to be her refuge, not another stage. She was determined to have one place where she could be herself, and if that meant swearing Pansy to a modified secrecy, then that was what Hermione would do. In any case, Pansy would undoubtedly be a good source of information, and information was what Hermione needed more than anything else right now.</p><p>She held out a hand, trying to stop Pansy's frantic attempts to eliminate the mess. "All right, now just – just wait a moment before you-"</p><p>Suddenly, Pansy let out a soft gasp and grasped the fingers of her right hand, dropping the shards she'd managed to collect back to the ground.</p><p>"...hurt yourself," Hermione finished weakly.</p><p>Sighing, she briefly glanced down to make sure her clothes were still somewhat on – it was the five-sizes-too-small skirt she was worried about - before she slid off the bed, being careful to avoid the broken glass.</p><p>"Here... let me see your hand," she said kindly.</p><p>As Hermione crouched down across from her, Pansy froze again. It was painfully evident she was afraid to comply; the pale-faced woman, who, strangely, looked quite unlike the Pansy Parkinson of her world, must have been living under a none-too-forgiving slave driver for the past two years, though her conditions were still nothing like Draco Malfoy's, thank Merlin and all the ghosts for Pansy.</p><p>"I'm not going to hurt you," Hermione said reassuringly, still holding out her hand. What she said and did from that moment on was going to make a lasting impression, and Hermione intended for it to be a good one. "Let me see your hand. Despite what you may think, I can fix it, I really can."</p><p>Reluctantly, slowly, Pansy released her grip on her fingers, revealing a bleeding crimson line across the length of them. Her deep blue eyes never left Hermione's face as she silently held out her hand, and she jerked once when Hermione gently took it in her own. If My had been as idiotic and/or cruel as it sounded like she had, Hermione supposed Pansy probably had more than legitimate cause to be concerned.</p><p>"It's alright," she said, giving the woman a reassuring smile. Pansy looked like she couldn't quite decide whether to be frightened or confused, so Hermione sighed and turned back to the task at hand, expertly casting the same healing charm on the nasty gash that she'd cast on Malfoy the night before.</p><p>One <em>Episkey</em> later and Pansy, still frozen in place, stared at Hermione, the mild distrust in her eyes mingling with astonishment.</p><p>Hermione wasn't especially eager to dive into an explanation she knew she'd have to give sooner than later, so she sent a basic repairing charm at the splintered glass. A beautiful jewelry box with the letter 'M' engraved in the middle reappeared on the floor before them.</p><p>"See?" she said lightly. "The box is whole, and so is your hand. No harm done."</p><p>She sent the Pansy another small, friendly smile, but Pansy quickly lowered her disbelieving gaze. "T-Thank you, Lady Evans - I - I'm so sorry... Here." Quickly, she stood and grabbed a rather long, familiar-looking roll of parchment off the nearby bureau. "This… This came for you…"</p><p>After practically shoving it in Hermione's hands, she stepped back and clasped her hands in front of her, bowing her head as if waiting for more instructions.</p><p>Hermione didn't bother looking down at her timetable of classes. She simply stared at Pansy, her heart aching. She had hardly spoken to the woman for all of two minutes and yet she couldn't take another moment of it, the whispering and the bowed head and shoulders and the glances of terror - couldn't bear to see anyone so bloody afraid of her, especially when Pansy had no reason to be. Not anymore.</p><p>Nor was she especially keen on keeping her as her House-Witch. While she didn't know the specific stipulations of the House-Witch bond, she assumed that, as Pansy's owner, she could technically 'free' her. Still, Hermione had seen the hatred that came with war, and she had to be realistic. She could only imagine that any Sovereignty supporters – which seemed to consist of the entire country, and probably most students at Hogwarts – would only attack Pansy and enslave her again if Hermione dropped her off at the Hogwarts exit.</p><p>No, as much as she hated to consider it, the safest place for Pansy at the moment was probably right where she was. Hermione certainly wasn't going to start treating her like she was her House-Witch, no matter what My had previously expected from her… but now she needed <em>Pansy</em> to realize that.</p><p>Hermione pushed herself off the floor, her tired muscles aching in protest, and sat back on the bed, literally sinking into the plum-colored quilt. The overly buoyant mattress let out a happy little 'blurch,' and she wondered if it actually <em>was</em> a waterbed. She almost rolled her eyes; of course her superficial alter ego here would have something so excessively extravagant it was uncomfortable.</p><p>"Pansy, I need to talk to you," she said slowly, still trying to come up with a semi-believable/semi-true story. "Why don't you come over here?"</p><p>Pansy stared at her, confusion evident in her gaze. She eventually nodded and whispered in an eerily subservient voice, "Yes, Lady Evans." Tentatively, she drew up alongside the bed and stood nervously, staring at the ground.</p><p>Hermione noticed that the knuckles on the Slytherin's tightly clasped hands were quickly turning a deeper shade of white, and she smiled sympathetically. "Please, have a seat if you'd like," she said genially, patting the bed.</p><p>If anything, Pansy looked even more jumpy at this request, particularly when Hermione led it with 'please.' Slowly, she sat down on the very edge of the bed on the other side of the bedpost, the mattress releasing another <em>blurgh</em> and shooting Hermione up like the other side of a seesaw at the additional weight.</p><p>Hermione frowned down at it briefly before she took a small breath, focusing back on the nervous woman across from her. "Right. While I was on the train, I… hit my head. It was a bit of a life or death, paradigm-shifting experience and I had a… slight change of heart."<em> Merlin, there's no possible way she's going to believe any of this, </em>Hermione thought with a groan. Still, she continued, "So – disregarding everything I've told you in the past – I <em>don't</em> want you to start acting House-Elf-like just because you're… bound to me like you are."</p><p>Pansy stared at her for a moment before her brow scrunched in perplexity. "H-House-Elf-like, my Lady?" she echoed hesitantly.</p><p>"House-Elf-like," Hermione confirmed with a nod of her head. "I want you to be yourself around me, which means that I don't want you to be afraid to act like yourself. In return, I'll listen to what you have to say and not order you about as if you were a House-Witch."</p><p>To say that Pansy's uncharacteristically hollow face was stunned would be an understatement, but she quickly closed her open mouth and asked uncertainly, "So, in other words, you… you want me to <em>say</em> what's <em>on my mind?"</em></p><p>Probably the last thing any proper House-Witch owner would do, Hermione expected angrily.</p><p>"Yes. Precisely," she said. "And when I say 'House-Elf-like,' I mean that you don't need to say, "Yes, my Lady,' and 'No, my Lady,' and wait on me hand and foot."</p><p>"Isn't that what a House-Witch generally does?" Pansy asked listlessly, staring down at her hands.</p><p>"No, a House-Witch generally does what her owner wants them to do," Hermione countered logically, even though she hated the words coming out of her own mouth. "You're not a robot, you're human, and as such, I'd rather you acted like one. For example, do you normally speak to people like you do me?"</p><p>Pansy lowered her head a bit. "After… After two years, Lady Evans, you begin to forget how to speak to people," she whispered faintly. Then she flinched and quickly glanced at Hermione, as if she expected some sort of retribution for her words.</p><p><em>Great Godric… what kind of cruel person </em>was<em> My? </em></p><p>"Pansy, please listen, because I mean what I'm saying now with everything I am." Hermione lowered her head until her earnest gaze met Pansy's. "I might have been horrible to you before, but… I've changed my mind about a lot of things. Were it possible, you'd be free right now, but with the situation as it is, I suspect you'd only end up as a target. Regardless of that, I am truly, <em>truly</em> sorry for everything I've done to you throughout the years."</p><p>Pansy tore her gaze from Hermione's and sat stiffly, her jaw clenched. Finally, without looking up, she said quietly, "You really expect me to accept that… m-my Lady?" she quickly added tremulously.</p><p>Hermione sighed quietly. "I know it's a lot and I won't force you to believe it, but I sincerely hope that the longer we spend time together, you will. I realize you're not going to understand the reasons behind most of this, but that's irrelevant. The point is…" Pausing, she mulled indecisively over her next words before deciding that it might be to her advantage to say them. "The point is, my alliances may be changing, and I think it would be very beneficial to the both of us if we began to work together."</p><p>For a moment, only silence met her words.</p><p>"Your alliances may be changing," Pansy repeated doubtfully. Suddenly, and with surprising temerity, energy sprang to her timid voice. "Your alliances may be changing when you've already won the war? When you've been adopted by the most influential woman of the ruling class? When you've never even cared about anything beyond your own prestige and<em> looking pretty?"</em></p><p>The moment the words exited her mouth, she looked shocked that she'd said them, and quickly bowed her head again, shooting another fearful glance at Hermione.</p><p>But Hermione just felt an overwhelming sense of relief that the woman still had some fight left in her, and that the subjugation hadn't simply turned her into an honest-to-goodness walking corpse, like it had some imprisoned Muggleborns that she, Harry and Ron had encountered and helped free from the Nott Estate a few weeks before the final battle. After they'd been flung from Death Eater to Death Eater for over two years, they'd been reduced to mere shells of human beings.</p><p>Their empty eyes - eyes that, if Hermione had been captured, very well could have belonged to <em>her -</em> still at once haunted her, infuriated her and broke her heart.</p><p>"It doesn't make sense," she agreed. "No matter which way you look at it, it doesn't, and I know that. The way I'm speaking to you right now doesn't make sense either, does it?" she added pointedly. "Does My utilize, much less possess this sort of vocabulary? She doesn't, does she?"</p><p>Pansy stared at her for several seconds, a multitude of decipherable emotions – bafflement, doubtful enlightenment, and then hesitant hope among them – crossing her face until she whispered, "Who - who are you?" Her voice was still diffident, but there was a new, underlying vein of excitement in it as she continued more quickly, "Do I know you from – Are you… under Polyjuice; what -?"</p><p>Hermione shook her head. "No," she said quickly, before Pansy's imagination could fantasize too many incorrect conclusions that might leave her terribly disappointed if and when Hermione told her the full truth. "For now, just take my word that I've changed. Considerably. I also seem to have forgotten a few things along the way, so don't be surprised if I ask some rather basic questions," she added with a wry smile. She lay the schedule aside and stuck out her hand. "Call me Hermione. No 'Lady Evans' or 'My' or any of that. Just Hermione."</p><p>Pansy ogled the offered handshake for a substantial amount of time before she took it quite warily. "Pansy… Parkinson?" she said uncertainly, phrasing it as more of a question than a statement, as if she still wasn't certain whether or not My Evans had somehow changed into a different person entirely, in which case a full introduction on her part would be necessary.</p><p>For the first time since she'd arrived 'here,' wherever 'here' was, a spontaneous smile settled itself across Hermione's features. "Pansy Parkinson, you must think me completely barmy at the moment, but it's really very, very nice to meet you."</p><p>A tentative grin tugged halfheartedly at the right side of Pansy' mouth, the expression in her eyes torn between confusion and relief.</p><p>As Hermione gave Pansy some time to process everything she'd sprung upon her, she picked it up the timetable again, scanning it. It was sparse, and Hermione vaguely wondered how My was managing to graduate in seven years. <em>The Dark Arts, Lupin… Divination, Trelawney; sod it all</em>, <em>not </em>that<em> again… Potions, Snape; thrilling-</em><em>-</em></p><p>
  <em>Snape! </em>
</p><p>Her mouth fell open as she gaped down at the paper. What on earth was <em>he</em> doing here?</p><p>"Hermi- Her<em>mi</em>one," Pansy finally repeated, sounding out Hermione's name as Hermione snapped her mouth shut, her ears trying to decipher Pansy's words while her mind tried to understand the logic behind Snape's presence. "That's why My stands for?"</p><p>Snape had been "bad" in her world… but he had been a spy for the good side… but then he had murdered Dumbledore and defected to Voldemort's forces and hadn't come back to the Order of the Phoenix since… so which side had he really been on? Did that mean that in this world, was he still a spy, this time for the good side?</p><p>
  <em>Or…</em>
</p><p>Hermione blinked at the staggering other possibility: Had he really been, somehow, still working for the Order when he'd killed Dumbledore? If so, it would place him, as what seemed to be the case, firmly on the side of the Sovereignty in this world. But was it possible for him to be any more of a pernicious prick here than he had been in her world?</p><p>"Erm… yes," she eventually said distractedly, her voice half-strangled. After a second, she tore her eyes away from the timetable, and, more specifically, Snape's name. She'd have to think on it extensively later, once she'd had a class with him. "Bit unusual, I know," she added in a more normal tone. She pushed the schedule away from her again and glanced at Pansy in surprise. "You didn't know that?"</p><p>The Slytherin shrugged, shooting an uncertain glance in her direction. "Well – I mean, I don't <em>know</em> you. Not really," she said, nervously twisting her hands in her lap. "Everyone's always called you My, so we thought it stood for Mya or some exotic…"</p><p>Abruptly, a flash of pain crossed Pansy's face. Her shoulders sagged, and she trailed off, as she staring expressionlessly at the finely carved bureau across from Hermione's bed. Hermione knew instantly she was thinking about the 'we' in her statement, her captured or killed friends, and a deep ache of pain and homesickness that was no doubt very similar to what Pansy was experiencing burned at her own gut.</p><p>Quickly, she moved the subject elsewhere rather than linger on the seeming hopelessness of both their situations.</p><p>"Well, I suppose 'Hermione' could be considered exotic. It has roots in Greek mythology," she said thoughtfully. "It took me two years to teach one bloke I knew how to say it correctly. Two years of Her-mon-ninny." The short, mirthless laugh in her throat couldn't quite make it past her lips as an image of Viktor flashed to mind. In a pained voice, she added, "Please, <em>please</em> do not call me My."</p><p>Pansy's focus had returned to Hermione, and she drew her right leg beneath her so she could face her rather than the wall, her braid flipping over her shoulder as she shifted. She took a deep breath, looking nervous. "So… basically… you've had a complete turnabout in conscience, name preference, and mannerisms because you hit your head, but you… you won't tell me why?"</p><p>"Basically," Hermione responded cautiously, glad to hear some of the timidity fading from her voice. "For example," she started, suddenly grateful to release some of her frustration now that she had someone to talk to, "Everyone I've met so far – that would include Harry, Ginevra, and Ruh-<em>naahllld" </em>- here she melodramatically said his formalized name with nasally scorn – "seem to be nothing but cruel, loathsome <em>monsters</em>, and if only I knew I could, I'd - I'd..."</p><p>
  <em>Jinx them until they felt the pain they apparently so seemed to enjoy causing others. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Run away and never come back.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Somehow find a way out of this insanity without being killed first?</em>
</p><p>Restraining a moan, she buried her face in her hands, shoving her fingers through her hair. Merlin, how in the bloody hell was she going to continue associating with the lot of them - everyone at Hogwarts, really, if every personality had assumed the twisted forms they'd appeared to - as if she actually <em>liked</em> them?</p><p>Pansy was silent for several seconds, bunching and unbunching the rough material of the gray skirt. "You must've off and hit your head something awful," she finally offered rather hesitantly.</p><p>Hermione sighed tiredly. "You've no idea." She slumped down on the bed - the bloody water mattress and billowing sheets and comforters nearly swallowed her - fumbled for the nearest pillow and stuffed it over her face. <em>So much</em> absolute insanity had happened in the last 72 hours, between this universe and her own...</p><p>"My head hurts," she mumbled.</p><p>She didn't know how much time passed while neither woman moved or spoke another word.</p><p>"Oh, there's something—" Pansy said suddenly, and Hermione easily felt her weight shift off the bed.</p><p>Reluctantly, she lifted the pillow from her face and pushed herself up on one elbow, which only caused her to quite literally sink further into the mattress's clutches.</p><p>The other woman pulled open the door to what appeared to be a walk-in closet. "I unpacked all your things last night, but I didn't know where you wanted this."</p><p>She emerged with a dark, vaguely familiar-looking bag.</p><p>Hermione froze, her breath catching low in her throat.</p><p>It was the same rucksack she'd had on her during the final battle.</p><p>"I don't remember you packing it," Pansy was continuing in her soft voice, but she stopped when Hermione practically leapt off the bed. She'd never been more grateful (and elated) she'd insisted upon carrying the Trio's supply bag - mostly because she'd been afraid Harry or Ron would lose it. Because in it – Good Merlin, if it still held everything they'd put inside for safekeeping – in it was a gold mine.</p><p>Without pause or hesitation, Hermione pounced on the rucksack, slid to the floor and unlaced it, plunging her hand inside…</p><p>Her fingers connected with the water-like coolness of sleek material.</p><p>Briefly, she closed her eyes and sighed in relief, offering up a prayer to whichever spirits had decided to take pity on her in some small form. She hastily pulled the object out and dug around the bag again, enlarged with an Undetectable Extension Charm. When her initial grasping proved unsuccessful, she simply stuck her wand inside, summoning the Marauders' Map that she knew was there<em>-<br/></em></p><p>"Is that… Is that an Invisibility Cloak?" Pansy whispered.</p><p>Hermione twitched in surprise, unused to having someone who wasn't Ron or Harry in her sleeping space at the crack of dawn.</p><p>
  <em>Merlin, almost forgot she was there! Must not do it again! </em>
</p><p>She glanced up to find the blue-eyed girl looking between her and Harry's Cloak, open-mouthed. "Yes," she said, lifting it and holding it up to Pansy. "Have you ever seen one before?"</p><p>"Yes, but..."</p><p>Pansy trailed off, taking it from her and turning the material over in her hands. Then, strangely, she lifted it to her face, as if to examine it extremely closely, or smell it, even. Hermione's brow furrowed slightly, but then she shook her head, turning her attention back to the bag.</p><p>Below the Marauder's Map was the real treasure: about half the stock of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, which Fred and George had generously donated toward the war effort. Fake wands… Wildfire Whiz-Bangs… Decoy Detonators… Portable Swamps… Headless Hats… Fainting Fancies… Extendable Ears... Shield Gloves... and an unbelievable amount more.</p><p>Many, Hermione would have normally condemned at any academic institution, but certainly not in the midst of a war, and certainly not here, in the midst of a seemingly totalitarian Dark Arts state.</p><p>Not that she'd be putting any of them to use. <em>Merlin no,</em> she thought. She was going to find a way out of here, whether 'here' was a confused mental state, the after-effects of a curse, or a real place... and she would be finding it soon. If necessary, though, the Wheezes could certainly be excellent survival tools, and their unexpected presence was an immense comfort; a reminder that somewhere, whether in this universe or another, there <em>was</em> a Light side, and it had prevailed.</p><p>Here, however, was a different story.</p><p>Setting the bag aside, Hermione stood, turning to a woman who in her world she'd hardly known and certainly hadn't liked… and who she was most likely going to be seeing quite a lot of in this one. "Pansy, I need you to explain to me what you can and cannot do under the House-Witch bond."</p><p>Pansy jerked in surprise from her tight grip on Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak and looked at her abruptly, as if she had momentarily forgotten she was there, but she nodded with only a slight expression of suspicion. She folded the Invisibility Cloak over her arm in more of a preoccupied motion than anything else and seemed to be ticking points off a list she'd memorized as she said with a sigh, "I can't touch you without your permission, I certainly cannot harm you, I can only enter and exit a room if a free person escorts me, when you say my name – no matter where I am – I'll reappear where you are instantly, and I must do whatever you Order me to. And I can't... do magic. Obviously," she finished softly.</p><p>Hermione nodded, but she mentally winced as she realized what she needed to do next. Like Malfoy the night before, she doubted that Pansy would be especially keen on running to the people who had enslaved her and spilling secrets, but for her safety, and Pansy's too, probably, it had to be done.</p><p>"Right," she began slowly, try to choose the most diplomatic words possible, "I'm not... happy that I have to do this – give you an order – but it is<em> crucial</em> that you do not tell anyone about what you see and hear about me, or that I'm acting any differently." She lowered her gaze on the taller girl, willing the seriousness of her message to reflect in her expression. "Do you understand?"</p><p>Pansy stared at the ground for several seconds before looking back at Hermione and nodding again. "I won't say anything anyway because you ordered me, but - I do understand why."</p><p>"All right." Hermione sighed, unable to shake the deep feeling of guilt at what she'd just done. Distractedly, her eyes wandered to the etched clock along the wall. "Bugger!" she gasped abruptly. "Classes are in two minutes!"</p><p>"It doesn't matter." Pansy handed Hermione the Invisibility Cloak and walked back over to the bed. She started to glance at Hermione, as if looking for permission, but then she shook her head before she could continue the habit and simply sat down on it. "Last year you never went to your first class on Mondays."</p><p>Surprised, Hermione momentarily started at Pansy's rather blatant statement of 'it's obvious to me that you have either completely lost your memory-slash-mind or you aren't the person you used to be at all.' Of course, she'd probably have to be blind and deaf not to, which was why it was so essential that Hermione did everything in her power to act like My around the rest of the world.</p><p>"Riiight," she said slowly, folding the Cloak back into the bag and then tapping the pack with her wand to shrink it.</p><p>
  <em>Brilliant, Hermione. Now she's most likely convinced that you're some My impersonator on Polyjuice, and a right poor one, at that. </em>
</p><p>Still, the idea that Pansy realized that My was 'someone else' – though Pansy may have had a vastly different idea of who that 'someone else' was (someone working for whatever Light forces were left holed up somewhere, perhaps) – didn't bother Hermione as much as she thought it would. At least Pansy seemed to be more willing to provide information now that she thought My was an entirely different person – which she was, for the most part.</p><p>
  <em>Well then, I suppose that solves some of my problems.</em>
</p><p>And anyway, speaking of people's problems…</p><p>Hermione thought of her nightmare, and she couldn't stop her mind from traveling back to the night before... to a pair of gray eyes emanating a devastating combination of honest-to-Merlin decency and utter pain.</p><p>She <em>knew</em> she shouldn't get involved; she <em>knew</em> she shouldn't let herself care too much…</p><p>But for a reason she couldn't rationalize nor explain except to chalk up to the same bewildered sense of horror that had driven her to help him in the first place, she <em>had</em> know why Draco Malfoy was kept brutally beaten in a cage while one of his closest friends was sliding by as more of the hired help. Even if his parents, and he, had played an important role in the two insurgencies here, it was no explanation for why the youngest male Weasley would revel in his role as chosen jailer… and torturer.</p><p>"Do you know," she began tightly as she placed the now thumb-sized backpack into the pocket of her robe, "how Ronáld Weasley felt about Draco Malfoy?"</p><p>An astonished expression exploded across Pansy's face. After at least fifteen seconds, the dark-haired woman said faintly, "He… hated him. More than he hated most any other person, I should think."</p><p>Although the truth of Pansy's words was obvious, the response still surprised Hermione, and she frowned. "Why?" she burst out, while Pansy still seemed to be reining in whatever shock Hermione's initial comment had elicited. "Aside from any Gryffindor-Slytherin enmity, obviously, but I should think there would've been others Ronáld disliked as well..."</p><p>She couldn't help but remember Malfoy's twinkling, playful expression in the yearbook picture and the almost understated maturity that he had managed to exude last night, even in the state he'd been in. Given how different Pansy herself was, she wondered quite honestly if this version of Draco Malfoy would have even succumbed to such a petty rivalry in the first place.</p><p>Pansy shrugged. "He would have hated Draco even without that - it was the non-conservative Old-Bloods, you know, who detested us the most for trying to stand up to the Sovereignty," she said sadly; it was an interesting piece of cultural information to have. "But everything exploded when Draco asked you to the Yule Ball in Fourth Year."</p><p>Hermione's eyebrows flew up. "Pardon me, but - what?" she managed. Of all the possible 'histories' that Malfoy and My could have had between them, she had <em>not</em> expected that to be among them!</p><p>Pansy nodded. As if recalling a dream, she continued in a distant voice, "Of course, it was only a prank - Greg and Vincent were the instigators behind it, really - and you turned him down just as publicly, but… Weasley never forgot the attempt."</p><p>Something twisted in Hermione's stomach, and she abruptly felt the urge to pace.</p><p>"Oh," she said weakly, legitimately astonished.</p><p>Swiftly attempting to digest this new information, she abruptly began to walk back and forth, turning on her heel at the closet and striding back to the main door. The Malfoy that Hermione had seen the night before had given her absolutely no indication that he even liked her as a <em>person,</em> so the answer to Pansy's Yule Ball revelation of course had to have been the simplest one: something that involved a prank.</p><p>Even so, Hermione couldn't help but ask carefully, "You're sure he just… did it as a prank? There wasn't any… fancying going on in there, was there?"</p><p>She was clueless as to what she'd do or think if the answer was 'yes.'</p><p>Luckily for her, Pansy shook her head. <em>"No...</em> No, I certainly wouldn't go as far as to say that. Draco – " she gave a slightly sad smile, "Draco could be a right charmer when he wanted to be, but - no offense to you – he wasn't one to go simply on looks alone for that sort of thing, if you know what I mean."</p><p>"No, he didn't seem like he would be," Hermione murmured in agreement. But before she change the topic, Pansy quickly stood, reaching out as if to catch the sleeve of Hermione's robe, though she didn't quite complete the motion.</p><p><em>"Please,"</em> she begged, "Oh Merlin, please, I beg you, will you tell me – is he all right?" Unmistakable desperation filled her voice. "Is he… is he <em>alive?"</em></p><p>An icy wave of understanding and unspeakable horror simultaneously swept through Hermione. It had been <em>two years</em> since the war had ended here, and My and Ronáld weren't exactly on cold terms with each other. Hadn't Pansy been able to at least see Malfoy at all in some kind of crossing; hadn't My told her, or at least said something, that would have given some indication Malfoy hadn't been killed?</p><p>"Pansy, you don't have to beg me to talk about your friends," she said kindly. "Malfoy - Draco - He's alive." Sympathetically, she watched the flurry of relieved emotions that crossed Pansy's gaze. She suspected they would soon vanish as she added carefully, "He's... He's in a situation... a bit similar to yours, in that he's the personal House-Wizard of Ronáld and Ginevra Weasley."</p><p>Pansy's pale face drained of any of the remaining color it held, if that was even possible. Stepping away from Hermione with an expression of utmost horror, she actually stumbled backward to sit on the bed as if she truly wouldn't have been able to stand otherwise. Her blue eyes filled with tears and her hands began to tremble visibly; she brought one to her mouth, clenching it into a fist, and squeezed her eyes shut.</p><p>A rock settled in the pit of Hermione's stomach. Pansy's wordless reaction only confirmed everything she'd feared when she'd seen Malfoy yesterday:</p><p>That he wasn't a bad person... but he was suffering the worst kind of fate.</p><p>Hermione easily imagined how she would have felt if Harry or Ron had been captured by one of the Slytherins – worse, by Lucius Malfoy or another Death Eater. For Merlin's sake, she had really only been a second's breath away from experiencing the same horror that Pansy currently was. In her world, if Voldemort had lived, and Harry had died, then she very well could have been in Pansy's exact position at this very instant, without knowing what had happened to Ron or her parents or any of her friends. And if Harry had lived, and been given as a slave to someone like Bellatrix Lestrange...</p><p>She released a long breath, sitting heavily on the bed beside Pansy. She hesitated, then lightly placed her hand on the other woman's back, rubbing it gently. Pansy's shoulders jerked slightly before she hunched over, covered her face with her hands, and began to weep.</p><p>Hermione's own eyes filled with emotion. She blinked rapidly, closing them tightly to ward off any inevitable flow. When she did, Malfoy's exhausted, battered face and his emotion-filled gaze returned to haunt her.</p><p>Her shoulders stiffened.</p><p>She <em>couldn't</em> try to help him, she told herself firmly. She didn't even know this world, or what to say or do that wouldn't immediately give her away and easily get her killed. For all she knew, Universe B wasn't even <em>real;</em> if it had been a mind-altering curse or coma enchantment with which she'd been hit, this twisted place could be a figment of her imagination entirely; to get involved with it might be the equivalent of allowing herself to go further insane.</p><p>No, her best chance, her <em>only</em> chance, was to find a way back to reality - or <em>her</em> reality, at least - as soon as bloody possible.</p><p>Even if it meant turning her back on the quiet voice inside her heart urging her to help these people that, before this day, Hermione had never ignored.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Map</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After an hour and a half of suffering through nearly suffocating, incense-choked air, fawning teenagers, and wispy, ambiguous predictions of missing pets and dying relatives, Hermione was nearly at her academic tolerance breaking point: the atmosphere around her made her feel as if she was mentally going <em>backward.</em></p><p>Of course, the first class that she was attending in this world <em>had </em>to be the only one that she truly detested, in her world or any other.</p><p>Oddly enough, even though Seventh and Eighth Year Divination was, for the most part, an elective, the entire class was absolutely packed with men and women alike. Unfortunately, those numbers included Harry, Ronáld, and Ginevra, which meant that Hermione had to be on her "My" toes at almost every second. She had managed to fend off most conversation by feigning a detached air, but she had no idea how much longer she could go on without saying <em>something</em> that could possibly arise suspicion.</p><p>Shockingly, neither Harry nor Ronáld was poking fun at the class, which was a radical divergence from the Harry and Ron she knew and loved. While Harry was idly swirling the leaves in his cup and looking relatively indifferent, Ronáld and Ginevra, along with most of the other students, seemed to be hanging on to Trelawney's every word as the misty-eyed woman figuratively floated about helping particularly inept students interpret their tea leaves.</p><p>Rolling her eyes, Hermione peered back down at her unintelligible mess of tea leaves and decided to say that they looked like a shopping bag, if questioned.</p><p>One with the Inner Eye, she was not. And anyway, the answer sounded very My-like.</p><p>Ensuring a small smirk remained on her face at all times - an expression she had seen My wear in several more yearbook pictures in which she was not the central focus of the photograph - Hermione thought back to her encounter with Pansy that morning. It had gone rather well, considering that the situation must have seemed as ludicrous to Pansy as it did to Hermione.</p><p>And Draco Malfoy asking <em>her</em> to the Yule Ball, even if it was as a prank? The Malfoy of Universe A would never have stooped so low (at least in his mind), even for a prank. Merlin, this world had gone <em>barking</em> mad, which led her to believe more firmly that there was no conceivable way this was a mind-twisting spell; she had never had this vivid an imagination.</p><p>Then, to see Snape's name on her timetable! The man had <em>murdered Dumbledore</em> in her world, for Merlin's sake. That should have absolutely made him a Light supporter in this universe, and therefore technically either dead, in Azkaban, or a House-Wizard... unless her basic assumption that good in one world equaled bad in the other, or vice versa, was a faulty one. It certainly hadn't seemed to apply to Filch.</p><p>Hermione sighed.</p><p>Sniffing out potential allies was going to be <em>far</em> more complicated than she had hoped -</p><p>"You know, I'd say that Trelawney was acting like a crazy old bat, if I didn't know for a fact she wasn't one," she suddenly overheard Ronáld mutter none-too-quietly to Harry. "All these blasted predictions get as boring as a Centaur hunt with <em>Filch</em> if they aren't about you. If she doesn't have a useful vision now, I'm going to get a bit shirty. Maybe even furious; I haven't decided yet."</p><p>Hermione couldn't help but sadly stare at Ronáld's slicked-back head. She couldn't erase the lurid image of what he'd done to Malfoy from her head, and from his entitled smirks and lewd leers and obviously violent temperament, he probably hadn't thought twice about it, let alone once.</p><p><em>But it isn't</em> him,<em> Hermione,</em> she thought firmly.<em> It's a - a -</em></p><p>An evil twin.</p><p>She nodded to herself, forcing a mental divide between her perception of this narcissistic brute and one of her best friends in the world.</p><p>Yes, that was it. His twisted evil twin Ronáld.</p><p>And a Trelawney with constantly accurate visions? Hermione scoffed at the idea, though she did have to wonder why the Divination teacher had so many rabid disciples, Ronáld included. Of course, there was always the very remote possibility that <em>this </em>Trelawney was a bit more precise in her predictions than her other world counterpart.</p><p>Which could be a very serious problem indeed.</p><p>"Shame she doesn't get one <em>every</em> day," she breathed in disappointment, deciding to risk conversation in order to find out how frequent these 'visions' were.</p><p>"A right shame," Ronáld moodily agreed in what seemed to be a mockery of her words. He smirked and leaned toward her wantonly, struck by an all-too-sudden change of disposition. "I bet I know what's in <em>your</em> leaves, pet."</p><p>Hermione gritted her teeth. This was the second time since lunch he'd made a pass at her, and the first time had been <em>without</em> words. To her utmost loathing, she knew she'd have to put up with it if she wanted to get back to her world in one piece, if at all.</p><p>"And whatever might that be, Ronáld?" she forced herself to ask with a too-sweet smile, holding her cup out to him.</p><p>The redhead studied it for a minute, then looked at her in the same lascivious manner he had on the train. "Since it's so obviously meant to be a bed, it's letting you know that, tonight..." he lowered his voice in a husky manner that she assumed he thought was attractive, "you and the best-looking bloke in this castle, your <em>Head Girl-</em>sized bedroom…"</p><p>Hermione stiffened as she felt a hand that was not hers slide under her already far-too-short uniform skirt and run up and down her bare leg. Hardly masking a scowl, Hermione reached under the table, grabbed the hand, and practically threw it off her, all the while keeping the pleasant smile on her face.</p><p>"Oh, Ronáld, don't be silly!" she exclaimed, ignoring his pleading face. As his hand again tried to move back to where it had no business being, she slapped it away under the table, then tilted her cup slightly to look inside it once more. She smiled at him innocently. <em>"I </em>think it looks like a purse. In the future, I will either be shopping for new clothes or a <em>new</em> <em>man."</em></p><p>Hopefully that slightly-witty comeback wasn't too far above My's head.</p><p>Luckily, Ginevra snickered as if My's insults of Ronáld were commonplace - <em>Which will become even more frequent,</em> Hermione thought vehemently - while several Gryffindor and Hufflepuff girls nearby chuckled.</p><p>Ronáld, however, simply rolled his eyes like her threat was nothing but empty words and gave her an annoyed expression. "Now, now, no need to get all <em>hissy,</em> pet-– "</p><p>"And now, we come to Lady Evans," Trelawney's wispy voice suddenly breathed behind her. "Let me see your teacup, my beauty…"</p><p>For once, Hermione was actually relieved to hear Trelawney's voice, though nervous. Of course, she had half a mind to continue her avowed skepticism of the rubbish that others called Divination, but now there was too much at stake for her to take anything in this world less than seriously. If Trelawney was a true Seer – or even a person whose word was trusted and well-respected - and she even <em>thought</em> she 'saw' something, anything that might throw suspicion onto Hermione…</p><p>The Head Girl swallowed hard, forcing herself not to think of the consequences.</p><p>Ignoring Ronáld, she forced an airy smile to her face and nonchalantly held the cup toward the batty-looking woman who was hovering over her shoulder.</p><p>
  <em>Please do not let her have a vision around me, please do not let her have a vision around me...</em>
</p><p>Trelawney peered inside the porcelain for a minute. "Your leaves whisper of an exchange in your future," she said in a hushed voice, her eyes scrutinizing the cup's bottom as she rotated it in her hands. "Tonight… Yes, tonight… The switch <em>must</em> begin and end tonight. <em>Use</em> <em>your</em> <em>Inner Eye!</em> Do you See, my beauty?"</p><p>
  <em>Oh thank Merlin.</em>
</p><p>Still the same crazy old bat, as Ronáld would say.</p><p>Hermione let out a breath, torn between relief and scorn. She froze in the process of rolling her eyes at Trelawney's tosh when she saw that Ronáld and the rest of the class were leaning toward herself and the professor, as if truly enraptured by the display.</p><p>In a heartbeat, the adrenaline and instincts that had kept her undetected since the moment she had somehow fallen into the Hogwarts Express of Universe B swallowed all her pride.</p><p>Swiftly channeling a Universe A memory of Lavender and Parvati during the few Divination classes she had taken, Hermione blinked and then masked her face into a mixture of confusion and awe, nodding as seriously as she could. "Oooo, I <em>do!" </em>she breathed, keeping her voice between an excited squeal and a breathy purr. She gestured at the cup. "That bit - and that bit there – Together they make an 'X,' for <em>ex</em>change! I see it!"</p><p>"My can <em>See!" </em>Parvati echoed in an excited whisper from the table behind her.</p><p>Trelawney nodded in equal seriousness and gave Hermione a rare half-smile, briefly setting her hand on her shoulder. "Well done, my dear. Well done," she breathed before moving on to a smirking Ronáld.</p><p>Hermione noticed Harry unhesitatingly roll his eyes at the same time that Ginevra glanced up from a brief examination of her nails. "Oh yes, <em>well done,</em> My," she imitated under her breath in a snide mockery of Trelawney, before one side of her lip tugged up crookedly. "You must be pleased. Every year you get that much closer to your life's ambition of being <em>just</em> like her."</p><p>Hermione wasn't entirely sure if Ginevra was mocking her or if this was some sort of inside joke. Perhaps My thought Trelawney was crackers as well?</p><p>"Minus her sense of style, you mean," she risked replying with a smirk.</p><p>Ginevra snorted and nodded once. "Luckily for you."</p><p>Hermione released a breath as the youngest Weasley turned back to Trelawney's prediction for Ronáld. Despite her bizarre obsession over Harry, Ginevra was clearly sharp as a whip, and Hermione was afraid that if anyone would be able to see though her mask, it would be her.</p><p>That was the moment she first saw Harry slip a thin sheet of parchment out of his pocket on the side opposite the one Ginevra was clinging, as if to prevent her from looking it. Curiosity overtook Hermione as he tapped it with his wand and nonchalantly glanced down at it, and she couldn't help but casually tilt her head at just the right angle…</p><p>
  <em>Oh bugger.</em>
</p><p>Hermione sucked in a quick breath as the object of Harry musings came into full visibility.</p><p><em>That</em> was going to be a problem.</p><hr/><p>"D'you see my hair, My? Doesn't it look different? Last week I had my Style Witch fix it <em>exactly</em> like yours!"</p><p>"What was it like to spend the <em>entire</em> summer with the son of Lily Evans? He's just so cold and dark and <em>delicious, </em>My… Have you gotten a good look at him – you know – starkers?"</p><p>"My, are the papers true? Did you really have an affair with Sirius Black after the Awards Ceremony?"</p><p>"We aren't bothering you, are we?"</p><p><em>Tonight… Yes, tonight… The switch </em>must<em> begin and end tonight… </em></p><p>With the breathy undertones of a hovering Professor Trelawney still ringing painfully in her ears, Hermione winced and finally tuned back in to the dinner conversation.</p><p>"Yes! Now let me eat in peace!" she snapped at the last question she had heard, shooting Parvati Patel, Lavender Brown and three girls in seventh year that she didn't know a glare. When all of them simply continued to gaze at her with awestruck eyes, Hermione wondered with a bit of belated alarm as to what else, exactly, she had answered 'yes' to.</p><p><em>Oh well done, Hermione; let's personally fuel more reports of your own promiscuity,</em> she thought sarcastically.</p><p>Holding back a tired groan, she turned back to her meal without another glance at the gaggle of girls, praying they would simply <em>take a hint.</em> Not only did she not want to talk about make-up, gossip, men, Dark magic and sex – the only topics she had heard out of their mouths the entire day – she didn't want to risk anything by speaking more than she had to.</p><p>Though a few of the girls looked decidedly disappointed, they all eventually turned back to their whispering group, thankfully leaving her alone at last.</p><p>And alone she truly was.</p><p>Hermione resisted the exceedingly tempting urge to rub her temples. Despite the obvious gains it had made promoting Muggle-born rights and equality, not only was this world one in which the Dark Arts were of the utmost importance, it was also highly materialistic and hyper-consumerist, leagues beyond the culture in which she'd been raised in Universe A (and that was quite saying something). She couldn't believe the amount of mobile phones and other seemingly Muggle-esque technology and toys she'd seen scattered around Hogwarts in the span of a single day.</p><p>She - well, My - surprisingly didn't seem to have a mobile of her own, at least not one that Hermione had found yet, and for that she was immensely grateful. Pretending to be My amongst the handful of people in her social circle was difficult enough, and she didn't know how she'd manage to convincingly field calls and messages from utter strangers who likely knew 'her' better than she did herself.</p><p>Releasing a long breath, Hermione forced herself to focus back on the problem at hand: <em>This</em> universe's Marauder's Map.</p><p>Of course, since its appearance in the Divination attic, Harry hadn't offered to show it to either Ginevra or herself, though she wasn't entirely certain he had even shared it with Ronáld. But if she was going to be sneaking around the library after hours, researching ways to get home, she couldn't exactly let him know that she was there, could she... especially not if the odds of hearing 'My' and 'studying' in the same sentence seemed close to zero.</p><p>Anxiously gnawing the inside of her cheek, Hermione glanced back toward the front of the Great Hall, and just managed to catch a glimpse of Harry's messily curled raven-colored hair as he hunched over his plate.</p><p>She had to get that Map.</p><hr/><p>Harry Evans sullenly stared at his food, relieved to have that blasted redhead away from him for one bleeding second of his waking hours. He only tolerated her presence because he had no other choice. He only spoke to her brother because his mother expected him to. He never spoke to Thomas, Finnegan, or Longbottom.</p><p>Idly, he tuned in to Ronáld's voice beside him -</p><p>"-nevra was behind most of that, I'll admit - bit shirty holiday was over, I think - but tonight – a free-for-all. That right dirty minger's been asking for it the entire <em>summer-"</em></p><p>- and tuned back out just as quickly, focusing his energy on staring blankly at the back of the head of a blonde Ravenclaw sitting at the next table over. A minute, or maybe five passed in this manner, but then an unmistakable voice suddenly cut through his bitter haze of unnameable thoughts with a mere two words.</p><p>"Oh, <em>Ronáld…"</em></p><p>Harry's shoulders instantly tensed. Clenching his jaw, he shifted his head to the left very slightly, almost unnoticeably – just in time to see the woman he had for two and a half years been truly loathe to call his sister wrap her arms around Weasley from behind.</p><p><em>So much for 'Oh, I'm </em><em><strong>so </strong></em><em>hard to get, Ronáld,' conniving little bint, </em>he thought acerbically as all conversation between Longbottom, Thomas, and Finnegan abruptly halted, Longbottom and Thomas coughing loudly.</p><p>A smug, possessive smirk broke out across Ronáld's face, which My only fueled as she leaned down, bringing her lips close to his ear. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving now, so you don't have to come looking for me later," she whispered in a low enough tone that Harry was probably the only other person close enough to hear.</p><p>He didn't need to look at Weasley to know that an excited gleam had jumped to the whipped tosser's eyes. "Looking for a spot of company, are you, pet?" He threw his napkin on the table. "Only too happy to oblige-"</p><p>"Oh, not now, Ronáld," My interrupted saucily, "I plan on taking a long, <em>hot</em> bath – alone," Harry was enormously surprised to hear her add.</p><p>Weasley made a slight moan of protest as she turned. "Oh, come on<em>,</em> pet!" he exclaimed, catching her hand and pulling her back toward him. Harry felt no brotherly protection arise in him at the sight as Weasley whined, "It's been <em>two bloody days!"</em></p><p>"Bloody hell, wrapped right around her sexy little finger, he is," Thomas muttered, shaking his head.</p><p>"And you're saying you wouldn't be wrapped around her sexy little finger, if you were in his position," Finnegan muttered back with a salacious stare in My's direction.</p><p>Harry could only sit, steaming in his own boiling blood, as My continued to make her presence known with more verbal foreplay with Ronáld and the other knob-headed lummoxes in his House. Had they really no concept her ultimate plan was to leave them all exposed and drooling like the halfwits they were while she had the last laugh?</p><p>Then, very purposely, she bumped into his own shoulder. Hard.</p><p>Harry swiveled on the bench, hardly stopping himself from releasing the same electric shock of anger and aversion he felt whenever My so much as looked at him. "Watch it, you cow!" he hissed furiously.</p><p>Infuriatingly, she simply batted long eyelashes at him. "Oh, so sorry, <em>brother."</em></p><p>Harry was positive he saw a tiny grin tug at her lips a second before she turned on her heel. He scowled fiercely at her back until she had sashayed out of the Great Hall entirely.</p><p>For years, he had always encouraged the world to believe that he cared for no one except himself and was indifferent to everything and everyone else, but words could not begin to describe how much Harry Evans <em>hated</em> the newest addition to his family. Despite the innocent, dumb blonde act she had always put on, he knew all too well her head held a perfectly functioning brain. Why no one else thought so, he hadn't the slightest idea.</p><p>"You never did tell me what my little My-pet ever did to you, Evans," Weasley said then in an imperialistic tone that left no room for avoidance. The self-obsessed skrewt leaned back on the bench and laced his hands behind his head, expectantly looking over at Harry.</p><p>Longbottom laughed. "No shit, Evans; you've got the goods! All I had to play with over the holidays was that Bulstrode twitch of a House-Witch. If My Granger suddenly became my adopted 'sister' and lived in the same house I did, you'd bloody well bet that she and I'd already be sharing a bit of good ol' sibling relations, if you know what I mean..."</p><p>He trailed off as Weasley gave him a venomous glare; when Harry set his cold gaze on him as well, Longbottom chuckled uncomfortably and looked away. "All right, all right; not my property," he muttered sullenly.</p><p>Harry glanced at Weasley. "It's personal," he said shortly in answer. Shoveling one last forkful of steak and kidney pie into his mouth, he stood and stalked away from the table without another word to any of them, his well-trained ears easily blocking out Ginevra's whingings of, "Harry, darling, where are you running off to <em>without</em> me?"</p><p>Bloody <em>hell,</em> he needed to go flying.</p><hr/><p>As soon as she emerged from the Great Hall, Hermione pasted a snooty expression on her face. Without bothering to acknowledge the few other students entering and exiting the Hall, she quickly turned down a dim, lesser used corridor. When she was safely out of view of any curious eyes, she slipped her hand deep into the pocket of her designer robes.</p><p>Her fingers connected with the smooth but worn parchment of Universe B's Marauders' Map.</p><p>A relieved smile slipped across her face, and she marveled, with some incredulity, at the relative ease of it all. While bantering with the Gryffindor boys, she had discretely utilized several rather handy pick-pocketing charms that Mundungus Fletcher had delighted in teaching her during the relatively short time he'd stayed at the same make-shift Light shelter as the Golden Trio had the previous year. Harry Evans had been so busy cursing her with his eyes that he hadn't even noticed that anything was amiss.</p><p>For a brief moment, her insides twisted painfully at the memory, but she shoved the sensation from her mind. For as much as every glare, every spiteful word truly hurt her now, she was going to have to get used to Harry's hatred, just as she would have to get used to handling Ronáld's perverse aggression. After all, they weren't the people that Hermione truly liked; they weren't the <em>real </em>Harry and Ron.</p><p><em>Anyway, it'll only be for a little while longer</em>, she reassured herself, pulling the Map completely from her pocket. <em>Only</em><em> until you find a way back, and you will. You'll be back with the Harry and Ron you love within the week... a month, at the longest.</em></p><p>Yes, just a month, and she would be back in a universe where she and so many like her had fought for the greater good and had won. Just a month, and she would be safe…</p><p>For some reason, instead of reassuring her, the words caused her heart to tighten in her chest.</p><p>Yet again, a handful of graphic memories from the past twenty-four hours flashed before her: The excitement and hope in Pansy Parkinson's expression when Hermione had all but told her that she wasn't really 'My' but someone whose alliances lay with the Light; the hesitant, poignant thank-you Pansy had given Hermione after she'd eventually stopped crying; the ghastly state in which she'd found Draco Malfoy, and the astonishment in his eyes when she'd pointed her wand at him and hadn't hurt him… but <em>helped</em> him.</p><p>Shaking off a deep uneasiness and something else, something inexpressible curling in the pit of her stomach, Hermione quickly forced her focus back to the Map. She wasn't certain how much time she had to work with, but she knew it wasn't much. Harry seemed to use it often, and she had no idea whether there were any seriously noticeable differences between this one and Universe A's Marauders' Map, which she had left with him.</p><p>"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good," she muttered, tapping the parchment with her wand. It occurred to her she didn't have a plan for what she'd do if the passwords were different, but luckily, inky lines spread from her wand to the parchment, carefully tracing the blueprints of the castle. She let out a breath of relief.</p><p>"-and then Lupin <em>pounded </em>him, easy as you please! That is one hell of a Dark Arts teacher, I tell you!"</p><p>Unexpectedly, a burst of leisurely chatter exploded nearby, and Hermione jerked in both surprise and alarm. Swiftly, she shoved the Map under one arm, safely out of obvious sight, and casually leaned back against the corridor wall as if she was waiting for someone there, idly studying long, manicured nails.</p><p>A group of older Hufflepuffs walked by. Some that Hermione vaguely recognized as a year or two younger than herself openly gaped at her, as if they had just been given the rare opportunity to gaze upon some distant pop star. Justin Finch-Fletchley's eyes, however, freely roved down her body from head to toe.</p><p>She clenched her jaw and forced herself to remain indifferent, tossing her unnaturally smooth hair (or, at least, unnatural to her) over her shoulder.</p><p>Susan Bones nodded at her with a relatively cool expression, and Hermione simply arched an eyebrow in reply, her expression detached but her heart pounding. She hoped it wasn't too cold of a brush-off.</p><p>Apparently, it wasn't, because the Hufflepuffs returned to whatever heated conversation they'd been having about the Dark Arts and continued on their way without any perceptible suspicion.</p><p>Merlin... whatever happened to the 'just, patient, and kindhearted' Hufflepuffs?</p><p>The knots in her stomach slowly unclenched as their voices faded. It was her first full day here, <em>only </em>her first day, and she was already on the edge of exhaustion from the constant necessity to keep her senses and her mind on high alert.</p><p><em>Where's Harry's Invisibility Cloak when I need it? </em>she thought tiredly, slouching partway down the wall. Then again, she supposed it would be easiest if she thought of it as <em>her </em>Invisibility Cloak while she was here, as the Harry of this universe probably had one as well-</p><p>
  <em>Invisibility.</em>
</p><p>Her mind snapped to attention, swiftly sweeping away the mists of tiredness that had been clouding her senses.</p><p>She straightened. Of course! Only yesterday night, she'd <em>actually managed </em>to perform one of the most advanced charms invented, despite its oft-perceived impracticality. In this world, it would certainly be of unspeakable usefulness to her.</p><p>Surreptitiously glancing around to ensure she was indeed again alone, she carefully folded the Map along an already established crease and slid it back in her pocket. Feeling an almost childish mix of exhilaration at her new capability and anxiety that she wouldn't be able to reproduce it, she took her wand from her pocket and purposefully aimed it at herself.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>OCCAECO!</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>She paused expectantly at the end of the silently cast spell. But instead of the odd tingling that she had experienced the first time she'd completed it (and hoped to experience again, as she assumed it was an indication of success), Hermione felt… nothing.</p><p>Disappointment flooded her. Frowning, she shook her head, determinedly clearing her mind. "No. I can do this," she muttered. The night before absolutely had not been a fluke. It <em>hadn't </em>been!</p><p>She took a deep breath of resolve and again placed the tip of her wand on her arm. Furrowing her brow in concentration, she closed her eyes and thought of only one word. <em>OCCAECO… Occaeco, Occaeco, OCCAECO!</em></p><p>Nothing happened. No tingly sensation, no surge of magic. No nothing.</p><p>
  <em>Oh bloody… Bugger it!</em>
</p><p>She hissed in exasperation and nearly kicked the wall behind her. Sighing heavily, she lightly banged her head back against it instead and stared up at the vaulted corridor ceiling. She had been under an immense amount of pressure the night before, she reasoned. To her, the situation had literally been life or death. Perhaps, theoretically, those were the conditions she needed to experience in order to reproduce the charm.</p><p>Anyway, that was the only time it would really matter, right?</p><p>
  <em>Right.</em>
</p><p>Hermione nodded affirmatively and started off down the corridor toward the Head dorms. She could complete an eighth-level Invisibility charm. Obviously, she already had. But she'd only be able to use it on… special occasions.</p><p>The kind of special occasions one never particularly wanted to have.</p><p>Briefly, she pinched the bridge of her nose and released another frustrated breath, then pulled the Universe B Marauders' Map from her pocket. She thumbed through it, trying to distract herself from her inability to cast a crucially useful spell she'd managed to previously.</p><p>The year before, she had helped 'her' Harry make a few adjustments to the Marauders' Map – mostly to allow it to see through several new concealment enchantments that had been developed during the war and therefore hadn't been incorporated into the Map's original detection capabilities like Polyjuice Potion had, for example. Granted, it had taken her a little more than a week to break through the admittedly ingenious framework, but she <em>had</em> gotten it, in the end. If this Map was made anywhere near the same way, then jamming it however she wanted should be a snap in comparison.</p><p>She would have to jam it well, however, considering the fact that most if not all of the original creators of said Map were probably still alive.</p><p>Absently, Hermione turned down another hallway, slowly closing the remaining distance between herself and the Head common room. At the painfully loud click of her high-heeled shoes on the stone floor, she couldn't help but wince. She had always considered any shoe with a heel higher than a centimeter to be utterly useless and perfectly impractical for daily use, but according to Pansy, this type of footwear was the only kind My owned… besides sheepskin slippers and fluffy white "snow boots" that she doubted could withstand a single drop of precipitation were it not for the aid of waterproofing charms.</p><p>Irately, she drew her wand and shot a Muffling Charm at the ridiculous things, then turned back to the Marauders' Map. Keeping her ears tuned for any stray noises that could alert her she was being followed or was about to run into another student, she scanned it keenly.</p><p>Off the top of her head, she was able to pick out a few major differences between universes, which lent more evidence against the hypothesis she might have been struck by a mind-altering jinx. Most noticeably, this Map showed a large addition to the Hogwarts grounds: a rectangular building boldly labeled '<strong>The Hangar,' </strong>squeezed between the eastern edge of the lake and the Hogwarts wall.</p><p>Hermione eyed it curiously, wondering at its use, then flipped through the various folds of the parchment until she was looking at the lesser used area of the castle she'd been the night before.</p><p>Interestingly enough, the Map showed no additional construction down the corridor that held the vampire statue - as if whatever was beneath the statue had been built after the Map had been made. But, oddly, a small, familiar tag <em>was</em> hovering above the space where, theoretically, a hidden passage or room would be, showing that someone was there at this very moment.</p><p>Frowning briefly in the dim light of the fading autumn day that shone through the few windows lining the hall, Hermione swerved, slowing beneath a lighted torch. The flickering firelight spilled across the paper, instantly making clear the previously unintelligible words.</p><p>Hermione's legs stopped working so suddenly, she almost fell over. She hardly noticed; she didn't care. She could only stare at the name before her.</p><p>The person tagged was Lucius Malfoy.</p><p>She blinked rapidly. But… that wasn't possible. According to the books she had read only the night before, Lucius Malfoy had 'mysteriously vanished' in the early eighties, in the midst of playing a major role in the first Conservative-supported rebellion.</p><p>Doubting her own eyesight, she suspiciously peered at the letters once more, then whipped out her wand and muttered, "Lumos!" for additional illumination, bringing the Map close to her face.</p><p>Yes, the label most definitely read <em>Lucius Malfoy</em><strong>. </strong></p><p>
  <em>Unless...</em>
</p><p>Hermione's eyebrows lifted slightly in realization, as a comment that McGonagall had made the night before suddenly made sense.</p><p>
  <em>"It's been fourteen years, and he still hasn't said the words you want to hear..."</em>
</p><p>Unless he was still being kept as a prisoner... <em>here.</em> But why hold him at Hogwarts? Surely an authoritarian government like the Sovereignty would have a reliable stock of legitimate prisons-</p><p>"Oh! My la – Hermione," Pansy's voice abruptly said from in front of her, still sounding wary at addressing her with anything less than a formal title. "He – Hello?"</p><p>Startled from her thoughts, Hermione looked up swiftly, only to find herself standing inside the door to her Head Girl suite, and Pansy looking up at her from where she was sitting, cross-legged, on the thick maroon rug at the foot of the bed.</p><p>She blinked. "Oh, erm - Hi, Pansy," she said, probably too brightly. "Were you... able to find something to do after I left?"</p><p>Pansy shrugged and held up what appeared to be a fashion magazine, probably one of the only semi-books that My possessed. "Beauty secrets – at least there's no politics involved," she said weakly, though her eyes were still guarded and wary. "Do you – Do you need me to do - ?"</p><p>She started to stand, but Hermione waved her hand in a 'stay' motion. "No, no, don't worry about a thing. I haven't regressed. Everything we talked about this morning still stands, and believe me, it won't be changing any time soon," she added with another surge of disgust at the Sovereignty's cruel system. "You most certainly do <em>not</em> have to wait on me or on anyone else who comes in here, though I sincerely hope we don't have company anytime soon. Anyway, I've got, erm… homework," she finished lamely, holding up the Map as if proof.</p><p>Pansy's eyebrows flew up, but she didn't complain; in fact, she seemed rather astonished. "Well… Alright," she said tentatively, nodding. It could have been Hermione's imagination, but the other woman's deep blue eyes seemed to linger on the Marauders' Map for a second too long before she returned her focus to the magazine.</p><p>After a moment, Hermione shook her head. She was just being paranoid (though certainly not without reason). Still, speaking of the Marauders' Map…</p><p>"Pansy," she said abruptly, gazing somewhat distractedly at the aged parchment, "Do you, erm… know what happened to Draco Malfoy's father?"</p><p>The dark-haired woman started and looked back up at Hermione so quickly, her long braid whipped against the front board of the bed with a small thump. Clearly, she hadn't expected the question, although all Hermione really wanted was another source to verify the same story that had been in <span>A Brief History of the Modern Wizarding World, 1945- 1997</span>, just to ensure that the book's information was indeed true.</p><p>"I – erm – Well, don't you?" Pansy asked evasively.</p><p>Hermione sank down at the edge of the bed, kicking off the much-hated high-heeled shoes. "I forgot."</p><p>Mentally, she groaned at her excuse. <em>Oh, Hermione, why don't you just stop trying already? She already knows that there's no comprehensible way you can still be My.</em></p><p>As if to prove her point, Pansy twisted around slightly, surveying Hermione carefully. "He disappeared just after Draco's fifth birthday. A few months later the Sovereignty told Draco's mum he died of a heart attack in Azkaban," she said after a moment. "That's really all I know. Draco and his mum never talked much about him to me, though you – er… though Gryffindors used to taunt him about it a rather lot," she finished cautiously, as if unsure of whether to refer to My in the second or third person. Uncertainty abruptly flickered in her eyes. "Oh, erm – you don't… mind me mentioning Draco, do you?"</p><p>Hermione shook her head. "I certainly don't. You can say whatever you want about whoever you want whenever you want. You are <em>not</em> a House-Witch, and you never have to act like one while I'm here." She didn't realize her voice was raising until it already had. "The entire system as it stands is utterly barbaric; no one should <em>ever</em> be forced to serve anyone against their will—"</p><p>
  <em>Whoa there, 'Mione. This is not the time for a S.P.E.W.-like tirade. </em>
</p><p>She could almost hear Ron's voice in her head.</p><p>She paused, inhaling in a slow breath. "Sorry. I tend to go off about these things sometimes," she said after she felt significantly composed again. "Thanks... for telling me, about Draco's father."</p><p>Pansy momentarily searched Hermione's gaze, which Hermione was certain was still tight with lingering anger. Then she bit her lip, hesitating. "Why?" she asked quietly.</p><p>Hermione held back a tired yawn, glancing at her over the edge of the bed. "You mean… why did I ask about Lucius Malfoy?"</p><p>When Pansy nodded, she sighed. <em>Wonderful… Do I tell her? </em></p><p>She hated to lie, but she hardly had any idea what was going on herself, both regarding this new Lucius Malfoy situation and everything else. On top of that, telling the truth would require a very long explanation of the Marauders' Map, and that was something she was far too exhausted for at the moment.</p><p>Dismissively, she waved her hand. "It's nothing, really. I overhead someone mention the name, earlier. I was just curious."</p><p>"Oh." Pansy's Mediterranean blue eyes studied Hermione for a second more, gleaming in a curiously unreadable fashion, before she returned her attention to the magazine. Hermione hadn't the slightest idea of whether or not she believed her, but, at that point, she had too much to do in a very short period of time to worry about it.</p><p>Rolling over until she was fully sprawled across her bed, she pulled the Map in front of her and frowned thoughtfully once more at the name <em>Lucius Malfoy</em>. She suddenly had so much to learn and consider and pretend and find that she wasn't even sure where this revelation ranked on her priority list, or if it should even <em>be </em>on her priority list. After all, if Lucius Malfoy was indeed in Hogwarts Castle, then no doubt he was guarded well. It was blatantly obvious that whomever or whatever was inside the vampire passage was very important to the woman she had seen with McGonagall. And what was more, regardless of that…</p><p>Would Hermione be willing to risk her cover and even her life to find out?</p><p>After all, what would she do if she <em>did </em>discover that Lucius Malfoy was being detained in a hole under a vampire statue at Hogwarts - really? Not a single day had passed in Universe A that the vicious, bigoted man hadn't acted out of spite and twisted discrimination. Sure, things <em>seemed</em> to be completely reversed here, but how could she really be assured that Lucius was indeed good? She'd thought that Severus Snape had been evil in her world as well, yet here he was, <em>still</em> on the side of evil.</p><p><em>Hermione! Good Merlin, </em>stop<em> over-analyzing this situation!</em> she scolded herself.<em> The Marauders' Map might have a good track record, but you don't even know for certain it's him!</em></p><p>Hermione briefly closed her heavy eyes, burying her face into the down comforter covering her bed. The desire to nod off was as tempting as a siren's call, but she reluctantly lifted her head, blearily forcing her eyes back open before she could succumb to it.</p><p>She would worry about Lucius Malfoy later. She'd have no means of doing anything for him or anyone else if she didn't help herself now. If Harry Evans had full operational use of the Marauders' Map, she'd have no way of researching legitimate explanations for her transfer here... as well as what steps would be necessary to return home.</p><p>That meant that the Map had to go.</p><p>Shrugging off her robe so she was simply left in her uniform skirt and shirt, she spent the next two and a half hours carefully working her way through the Map's now-familiar, delicate magical structure. When she'd finally cracked it, she debated for several minutes on an appropriate message to display once she'd completely disabled it, especially because there was the chance that Harry would run to his – <em>their </em>– father and ask for help.</p><p>Finally, Hermione settled on what she deemed the most cautious approach.</p><p>'<em>Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs regretfully wish to inform you that the Marauders' Map will be closed for repairs, updates, and renovations for an indefinite amount of time. Have no fear, however; we </em><span><em>will</em></span> <em>reopen as soon as all improvements are finished! Do not let this discourage you from cracking on in your dodgy and preferably illicit activities. Remember, pranksters will always prevail no matter the odds that may be thrown against them!</em></p><p>
  <em>Until an indefinite amount of time, we remain, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your Fellow Mischief Makers</em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.S. – To those particularly insightful fellows who may be privy to the identity of aforementioned Messrs., d</em>
  <em>o not bother to seek out aid from one of them. This cycle is necessarily for the Marauders' Map's health and proper function, and, as we have spent valuable time integrating it into the Map's system, we will not cut the process short simply because you haven't got a whit of patience.'</em>
</p><p>Smiling to herself, Hermione carefully re-folded the map and tucked it into her robe's pocket. Heaving a sigh of relief she'd at least accomplished <em>something </em>productive, she rolled onto her side, gratefully taking the infrequent moment of laziness to thoughtfully gaze around the Head Girl suite. It was exorbitantly massive for a private dorm room, with loads of floor and wall space despite the many bureaus, sofas and sitting chairs.</p><p>Yet… there was no extra bed.</p><p>Furrowing her brow, Hermione crawled commando-style to the edge of the bed and poked her head out over it, startling Pansy enough for the woman to jump and look up at her in surprise. Hermione gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry to keep startling you, but… where do you sleep?" she asked cautiously, partially afraid of the answer she might receive.</p><p>Pansy's face fell, and a slight flush rose to her pale cheeks. "I have to sleep in the… the House-Wizard hold, in the dungeons," she mumbled dully, carefully staring down at the magazine in her lap. As scorching anger crossed Hermione's face, she added half-heartedly, "It's not as bad as it sounds..."</p><p>Hermione's aversion to and utter <em>revulsion</em> for this world and the part that she was being forced to play in it that had been steadily building throughout the day abruptly burst from the careful dam behind which she'd tried to contain it.</p><p>"Rubbish! From this night on, you're sleeping right here!" she said furiously, the anger not directed at Pansy, but at the monstrously inhumane way she was being treated. "Just let me know who I have to tell, and <em>oh,</em> I will – tell them to go bugger themselves, anyway," she growled under her breath.</p><p>Pansy tore her gaze away from the magazine to stare at Hermione as if she still couldn't believe she was real. "Filch… he's the overseer," she said softly, hope trickling back into her eyes. "My brand acts as a Portkey. I'll be transported to a cell at ten, unless you let him know there's been a change of arrangements."</p><p>Hermione nodded, her eyes still narrowed angrily, and hopped off the bed, already scoping out the large room for the best place to put an extra cot. "No worries. Done. Consider it a <em>permanent </em>change of arrangements. Honestly, making human beings sleep in a 'House-Wizard hold'... Merlin's ghost." Abruptly, she looked down at Pansy in horror. "Are there very many of you who're forced to sleep down there?"</p><p>For a few moments, the pale-faced woman simply stared at her, her eyes glistening with a depth of sadness that Hermione abruptly began to feel inside herself as well even though she'd never experienced the magnitude of the horrendous ordeal Pansy surely had. Eventually, the other witch shook her head. "I- I don't know. We're all... separated. I can't hear anything outside my cell," she murmured faintly, her voice tight. "But I remember how big that area was, so if I had to guess... At least fifty others, I'd suppose, if not more."</p><p>"<em>Fifty!"</em> Hermione exploded under her breath, shoving her feet into the ridiculously high heels with a bit more vigor than was necessarily. She hardly even winced at the pain that shot through her toes. Irritably, she fired a cushioning charm at them, though what she really needed was a charm that followed her around at all times, ready to catch her whenever she tripped and fell -</p><p>"Herm- Hermione?"</p><p>Her gaze snapped upward to find that Pansy was standing rather uncertainly a few feet from her, her expression anxious - as if she desperately wanted to speak, but didn't quite know how. The instant Hermione saw the leagues of gratefulness shining in her eyes, she grasped her unvoiced words, and some of the anger and frustration at the world around her drained from her body.</p><p>She opened her mouth, began to say, '<em>Everything's going to be alright,' </em>but quickly stopped herself a breath before she did. There was no use in making promises she doubted she would be able to keep.</p><p>Instead, she wordlessly reached out and gently touched the former Slytherin's arm in a gesture she often used when comforting less intimate friends. "I'm going to do what I can for you," she said quietly.</p><p>Pansy looked torn between hopefulness and skepticism, the forgotten fashion magazine hanging limply from her hand. "A-Are you certain that you're going to s-stay this way?" she whispered, her timid voice quivering slightly as she spoke.</p><p>Hermione smiled warmly at the taller woman - though with My's heels, they were currently around the same height. "Yeah. I am."</p><p>As if a silent understanding had passed between them, Pansy tremulously returned the smile, visibly struggling to withhold the emotion glistening in her eyes. After an awkward moment, Hermione sympathetically reached out and hugged her reassuringly. "I <em>am,"</em> she repeated firmly as Pansy's thin shoulders began to tremble once more. "That, I can promise you."</p><p><em>For now, anyway, </em>she finished silently, mentally wincing with guilt after the assurance slipped from her mouth. After all, she had no idea of the nature of the spell that had brought her here. For all she knew, she might very well wake up and find herself back in Universe A the very next morning.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Let Me Die</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This story has a few -- okay, more than a few truly dark chapters. This is one of them. No spoilers, but... #thingswillgetbetter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione was on the verge of speaking the password to exit the Head dormitory through the portrait hole when it slid open on its own. She clamped down on the inside of her lip to narrowly restrain a yelp of surprise at the hulking figure on the other side of it, her frayed nerves overly sensitive.</p><p>She relaxed only slightly when she realized it was Harry. How was he <em>so</em> much bigger in this world than he had been in hers? Could the eleven years Harry Potter had spent with his aunt and uncle really have stunted his height so significantly?</p><p>Harry, for his part, seemed just as startled to run into her. He was sweaty and flushed, his thick, messy hair even wilder than normal, as if he had just come in from Quidditch practice. As his surprised expression swiftly hardened to an icy glare, Hermione abruptly noticed he was still wearing the same robes he had sported at dinner...</p><p>Meaning that Universe A's Marauders' Map was most likely still inside.</p><p>
  <em>Should I switch them back now? Can I even do it that quickly? </em>
</p><p>The memory of Trelawney's words suddenly slammed into her:</p><p><em>'Tonight… Yes, tonight… The switch </em>must<em> begin and end tonight…'</em></p><p>Bloody Morgana. If – <em>If</em> that could possibly be applied to the situation in which she found herself currently… Had the old bat really been on to something?</p><p>Despite the general contempt that she held for the entire "art" of Divination, Hermione had no desire to tempt Fate any more than she already may have done over the course of her tumultuous nineteen years. She quickly swerved as she exited the portrait hole while Harry entered, deliberately bumping him hard.</p><p>"Son of a-"</p><p>Harry whipped around and grabbed her wrist, yanking her toward him as easily as a rag doll. "Twice in a day?<em> Already?"</em></p><p>Hermione yelped, desperately bracing herself against the stone wall to stop from pitching forward into the common room. "It isn't my fault you can't keep yourself off me!" she retorted, futilely trying to shake herself from his grasp as all six feet or more of him glowered down at her.</p><p>Harry squeezed her wrist so hard she gasped. "Shut it, Granger. Shut your <em>bleeding</em> mouth!" he hissed. "No matter how much you might have on me, you do <em>not </em>have permission to muck with me! Is that bloody well clear enough for your depraved, selfish mind?"</p><p>Hermione's thoughts spun frenetically, although the blood pounding through her temples threatened their clarity. What did he mean, having something <em>on</em> him? Was it simply a random word choice, or could it possibly mean...?</p><p>Though it would be taking quite a leap, she lifted her chin, trying not to let her expression belay her growing alarm.</p><p>"Let go of me," she said coolly, praying that she sounded calmer than she felt. At her words, his grip conversely tightened, but she determinedly repeated evenly, "Let go of me, Harry. Now."</p><p>He stared at her for several seconds... before he grudgingly but <em>actually</em> released her hand.</p><p>Hermione yanked it to her chest and quickly stepped rather unsteadily away from the portrait hole, as the man who until the past two days had always been her best friend rigidly took a jerky step back into the common room. A vein visibly throbbed furiously at his temple.</p><p>She honestly couldn't believe it had worked. Was <em>this</em> why he had been so angry at her from the moment she'd first seen this version of him - because My was blackmailing him? But… about what? What secret could the dark, distant son of the Sovereign State's Viceroy be so desperate to keep hidden away that he would actually obey <em>her</em> orders?</p><p>Whatever it was, all Hermione cared about now was that it gave her the power to keep a strong, dangerous wizard away from her… for the moment, at least.</p><p>"If you ever touch me like that again, understand this," she breathed slowly. "I will have all the permission that I want… to do whatever I want." Swallowing back a tremor before it could affect her voice, she raised her eyebrows pointedly. "Got it?"</p><p>Harry glowered at her with the ferocity of a thousand suns, then spun, slamming the portrait hole shut behind him so hard the <em>crack!</em> reverberated painfully in her ears.</p><p>The soft <em>whoosh</em> of air that followed the abrupt motion lightly caressed Hermione's face. At the gentle whisper of a touch, emotion overwhelmed her, and it took everything not to sink to the ground and sob. She surrendered to the first urge; her legs all but gave out as she collapsed to her knees. Looking down at her throbbing wrist, she grit her teeth, her hand shaking slightly.</p><p><em>Sweet Morgana,</em> <em>I</em><em> can't keep doing this… I can't…</em></p><p><em>You have to,</em> another part of her rationalized dully.<em> You have no other choice.</em></p><p>She really didn't.</p><p>Blinking back tears burning hot at her eyes, Hermione bit her lip, wincing, and shook out her aching hand. A moment later, she sighed, heavily pushed herself to her feet, and mechanically started off in the direction of the dungeons, apathetically fingering a now perfectly working Marauders' Map in the pocket of her robe.</p><hr/><p>"No, it's alright, I've found… <em>other</em> uses for her. If you know what I mean," Hermione purred airily to the oily-looking old man who was leaning, arms crossed, against the ironclad entrance to the dungeons.</p><p>Argus Filch didn't smile. He leered, his breath smelling suspiciously like Firewhiskey. Brushing some greasy hair from his wizened face, he peered down at her in the dim lighting, clearly in dire need of a pair of glasses. "That I do, missy," he said with a darkly amused chuckle, making a note beside a name on the long piece of parchment in his hands. "Off the list she goes, then… for a little while, anyway, eh?"</p><p>Another blast of frigid air slipped past the metal doors and into the hall, and Hermione suppressed a shudder. The chilling surroundings were even more disturbing now that the dungeons were truly being <em>used</em> as dungeons. To her frustration, she hadn't been able to see inside them - Filch had come to the dreary entrance the moment she'd rang.</p><p>"Your..." she hesitated for the right word, "competent assistance is ever so appreciated, Mr. Filch." She smiled insincerely and began to back up before he could focus on her again. In an exaggeratedly earnest voice, she added, "I hope you have a simply <em>delightful</em> evening."</p><p>"Oh," he chuckled with a pleased leer, "Believe you me, I plan ta, Lady Evans." The sinister amusement to his words made her feel sick. "You and yer House-Witch, eh," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "you have a good 'un yerself."</p><p><em>Oh, lovely, you bestial man, and what </em><em>exactly do you think we're going to do? </em>Hermione thought disgustedly.</p><p>She gave Filch a forced, sickly sweet smile and turned, striding away as quickly as she could in heels to put as much distance between herself and what was certainly Filch's gaze on her bum. Once she'd reached the ground floor, she tiredly removed the Marauders' Map from her pocket once more and tapped it with a mutter of the usual password, absently rubbing her aching wrist where Harry had grabbed it earlier. It was after curfew, so the halls were largely empty, but she didn't doubt there were mischief-making Universe B students she would have to be on her guard against when she did begin her own running about after hours.</p><p>Of course, the first section she inadvertently flipped to was that of the Vampire statue area, <em>Lucius Malfoy</em> still boldly hovering above it. Her stomach turned when she saw it, and she quickly shifted the map to another location to put off dealing with the subject. Really, what could she do about it? She wasn't here to get involved, she didn't have enough information to get involved, and, frankly, she was afraid she had no idea of the can of worms she might be opening if she tried.</p><p>When Hermione came upon two dots in the kitchens labeled <em>Dennis Creevey</em> and <em>Jimmy</em> Peakes, she smiled slightly, fondly recalling the former: a cute, wide-eyed little boy who, unfortunately, was never too far from his rather overzealous, Harry-worshipping older brother.</p><p>The smile froze on her lips when it occurred to her that neither boy would probably be anything like the ones she remembered.</p><p>She sighed and returned her gaze to the Map, treading her way down corridors so familiar she could in all likelihood maneuver them blindfolded. Painfully, she felt a pang of longing for the two boys who normally roamed these halls at her side, and her gaze was drawn to Gryffindor Tower. It was obvious that most of the House had turned in for the night; many of the labeled dots were bunched in the dormitory areas.</p><p>Then her gaze shifted to the common room.</p><p>The familiar names of several students came into focus, including <em>Seamus Finnegan,</em> <em>Neville Longbottom</em>, <em>Dean Thomas</em>, and a certain <em>Ronáld Weasley.</em></p><p>They were all clustered around a single dot marked <em>Draco Malfoy</em>.</p><p>Her feet froze. Her heart gave an abnormal lurch in her chest before it began to pound faster.</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>The part of her that valued self-preservation — and oh, even Hermione Granger possessed such an instinct, though she had learnt to weigh it evenly with other rational though perhaps less self-preserving responses — screamed at her to forget it, to walk on, to pretend she'd never even looked at that area of the Marauders' Map…</p><p>But it was too late.</p><p>Because she <em>had.</em></p><p>Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione willed herself to calm down, to quell the intensity of the distress and anger and fear that abruptly streamed through her veins that she <em>could not afford to be feeling</em> about a simple dot. Not here, in this dark world, with little historical knowledge and no allies.</p><p>She wasn't daft. She had little doubt what might have been – and most likely was - happening in her old common room at the moment. And dear Merlin, it wasn't as if she condoned it – Merlin knew she did the farthest from it! But…</p><p>Her newly regular chant, one that in Universe A she wouldn't have dreamed she'd ever use, again began to repeat itself in her mind. She couldn't get involved in this! Not only did she hardly even know the Draco Malfoy of this world, the odds were ugly, and they were against her! Even if she <em>did</em> try to help him, here he was as good as a slave. Not only was she was leagues above him socially, she supposedly couldn't stand him. Just how was she supposed to walk in there and tell them to stop doing to him whatever the bloody hell it was they might have been doing without utterly breaking from My-character?</p><p>For perhaps the fortieth time that day, the cloaked woman's sultry, powerful words slipped through her mind like poison.</p><p>'<em>If even the slightest hint of suspicious behavior is displayed by either student, staff, or otherwise, we have plenty of people who specialize in interrogation…'</em></p><p>Indecisively biting her lip so hard she eventually tasted the bitterness of blood and forced herself to stop, Hermione hovered stiffly, breathing shallowly, at the end of the first-floor hallway for at least two minutes.</p><p>She was so tired... <em>so</em> tired, and her arm and several other areas of her body positively ached from Harry's thoughtful decision to slam her into a wall. All she wanted to do was crawl back to her bedroom, set up a cot for Pansy, and sleep… sleep…</p><p>Until the equally exhausted gray eyes that had bored into hers so dumbfoundedly when she'd said she wanted to help him pierced her mind, and the memory of a brutally beaten human being locked in a cage assaulted her like a phantom that wouldn't disappear.</p><p>A rush of anger swept through her<em>. </em>Merlin be damned, what was <em>wrong</em> with her? She was Hermione Granger, the so-called champion of the underdogs and queen of lost causes! The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare was enough proof of that! She helped people and beasts and beings; it was what she did, one of the things that drove her very existence. How dare she — how <em>dare</em> she — let fear stand between her and the values in which she believed?</p><p>Swallowing the maelstrom of firing nerves in her gut, she resolutely turned toward Gryffindor Tower and began to walk, vexed she had hesitated for so long. She had no idea of what she would do - of what she <em>could</em> do - if Ronáld and his pack of Gryffindors were tormenting Malfoy. But Godric help her, she couldn't let it go on... not when she had the power to do <em>something.</em></p><p>She just needed to sort out what specifically that something was before she got there... and hope to all the ghosts she wouldn't be caught in the act.</p><p><em>Right, Hermione, </em>her weary mind thought bleakly. <em>Better start sorting fast.</em></p><hr/><p>To anyone in the Gryffindor common room who was not yet in his or her respective dorm, the celebrated arrival of new Head Girl My Evans was nothing out of the ordinary.</p><p>While younger girls watched enviously, a gaggle of seventh and eighth year women (the extra year temporarily added to make up for the one lost during the war) instantly hovered around her, chatting about boys, clothes, and life, fighting to be the one upon whom My bestowed her attentions. As My brushed them all off, as usual, every boy and man present stopped what they were doing and stared – or, more specifically, drooled unattractively.</p><p>And really, how could they not? The Muggle-born Elite had been on the cover of Witches' Vogue twice, more recently just that summer for usurping her adopted mother as Most Beautiful Woman of the Sovereignty (counter to Sirius Black's Man), and, of course, there was that little way she wore her uniform, walked, talked, <em>breathed –</em></p><p>Little did they know how different she really was.</p><p><em>Honestly, don't these people have anything better to do with their time? </em>Hermione thought irately, giving Lavender and Parvati a thoroughly insincere smile. After she'd sufficiently hidden the Mauraders' Map, she'd rolled up her skirt several times, shot a volumizing and revitalizing spell into her hair that Pansy had taught her that morning, lifted the collar of her uniform oxford shirt, and unbuttoned the top three buttons of it, hoping that would be enough to work the 'My' charm.</p><p>Apparently, it was.</p><p>Ignoring everyone else (she'd found they'd eventually get the hint and disperse), Hermione focused on the strange environment around her. Raucous voices, most of them masculine, had exploded in her ears the second she had entered the familiar-looking common room… as had loud, pounding rock music. In surprise, she looked quickly for a live band of musicians, but found none. Instead, her gaze landed on a sizable boom box sitting boldly atop of the mantle.</p><p>A boom box that looked very Muggle.</p><p>She nearly did a double-take when she saw an equally massive-screened television sitting on the carpet nearby. The machines were another conspicuous reminder of how very different this world was: Not only mobiles and small computers, but <em>any</em> form of Muggle technology was apparently accepted and allowed here—</p><p>A shout interrupted her astonished analysis.</p><p>"Oi, ev'one, looky 'ere! The party's fine'ly started; My Evans's off an' decided'a visit us!"</p><p>It took her eyes a moment to identify the trim, leagues less awkward and newly christened "Ville" standing in the midst of a thick crowd of mostly upperclassmen boys gathered near the fireplace, many of whom were holding slim, dark glass bottles — some of which Hermione recognized as Butterbeer, but the rest most certainly were not.</p><p>Immediately, most of said boys' heads swiveled toward her, and rather overzealous bellows of greeting subsequently erupted.</p><p>"My! Com'on an' join the party!"</p><p>"Look'it this, it's hi-<em>larious!"</em></p><p>"Bloody 'ell, witch, what took yeh so damn long?"</p><p>"Sorry, I was primping," Hermione snapped automatically before quickly reining in her tongue. The last call was from Dean, who she could only see because his tall head poked out above most of the other boys. He smirked at her broadly, lifting his bottle into the air and tipping it toward her in a toast, then swayed and nearly fell over from the force of his own actions.</p><p>The boys around him laughed loudly, slapping him on the back.</p><p>
  <em>Good Merlin, they're all flat-out plastered!<br/></em>
</p><p>The abnormally suave Ville swaggered unsteadily toward her from amongst the general horde. He looked her up and down, his smirk widening.</p><p>"Well, it was cert'ly worth the wait, then," he breathed in a low voice. Before she could respond to <em>that, </em>he continued loudly, "Fine'ly foun' time'a make a – a return trip'a the Motherhouse, eh?" He swung his arm out in a broad circle, as if making a grand gesture of annoyance. "That's more'n I can say for the - the <em>other</em> one'a you Head people. Lord - Lord<em> Wan'</em>-up-'is-arse Evans."</p><p>Hermione cautiously made her way closer to the other boys with him. From what she had seen on the Marauder's Map, Malfoy must have been at the crowd's center. The question was, how in Merlin's name was she going to get to him?</p><p>Another collective shout erupted from the group, one that was followed by a wave of roaring laughter.</p><p>Hermione's stomach lurched when she considered what might have been the cause of it.</p><p>She was struck with a desperate desire to shove Ville and anyone else in her way out of it, but before she could succumb to the rash impulse, an unmistakable head of red pushed through the depths of the throng.</p><p>"Budge up, c'mon, outta m'way, yeh lit'le berks – My, pet!" Ronáld breathlessly exclaimed over the hard rock beat; it sounded as if the mild physical effort had been too difficult an endeavor for this aristocratic version of him. He shot Neville a venomous look. The latter laughed and held up his hands, swiveling back toward the crowd… leaving Hermione face-to-face with the new nightmare of her thoroughly screwed-up life: a slicked back, smarmy Ronáld Weasley.</p><p>"Finally com'ma see me, then, have you?" he continued, looking pleased.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Hermione pasted a thoroughly bored expression on her face, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. "Tosh. I missed the common room, is all." She sashayed in a small circle, pretending to take in the golds and reds around her as if she hadn't seen them for years. "The Head dorms are just so <em>big…</em> and <em>lonely…"</em></p><p>Unexpectedly, Ronáld caught her up around the waist from behind. She stiffened, then forced herself to relax as he brought his head down alongside hers. The nauseating, nearly overpowering stench of alcohol instantly permeated her senses. She swallowed hard to restrain another wave of bile as he purred in a tone she assumed he thought was seductive, "I'm sure I could help y'out there, Snugglepuff…"</p><p><em>Snugglepuff? </em>she thought disdainfully.</p><p>"FIN'IGAN! <em>That</em> was a good'un!"</p><p>More loud laughter thankfully delayed any need to form a response. From the experience she'd had observing Slytherins in Universe A, she knew continuous raucous laughter was never a good sign.</p><p>
  <em>Come on, Hermione! Focus on the endgame!</em>
</p><p>Her heart began pounding so hard she hoped to Merlin Ronáld didn't feel the tangible shudder of each beat through his grip. "Oh, but Ronáld, we're still playing hard to get, remember?" she replied sweetly. With a rather impressive twist, she slid from his grasp, prancing ahead of him to the outer edge of the group of boys. She hesitated, then, thinking quickly, glanced back at him and pouted. "You haven't been having fun without <em>me,</em> have you?"</p><p>Ronáld laughed and shook his head. "Nah, nothin' you'd find fun, pet. Y'know... getting y'hands dir'y an' all'a that." He curled his palm around the back of her neck and smirked. "It's the Fus'y, though… you'll think it's funny." He started to make his way back through the crowd, his heavy grip on her neck essentially forcing her to follow beside him.</p><p><em>How lovely. I'm being led about like cattle, </em>she thought sarcastically, but reluctantly let him steer her through the group of men - at least it was getting her where she needed to go. Her eyes quickly scanned ahead for Malfoy as her so-called boyfriend swatted at the sniggering boys clustered around the large hearth of the fireplace. "C'mon, c'mon, you lot, off wi' yeh, you've a whole year f'this."</p><p>With several pointedly loud grumbles, they grudgingly scattered, or, more aptly, stumbled away...</p><p>Leaving one wide, red-rimmed gray eye to stare straight into hers.</p><p>Hermione froze in unutterable horror; her feet stopped moving, but Ronald's grip didn't. As she lurched, catching herself before she could tumble forward, the gray eye closed.</p><p>The other was already swollen shut beneath an ugly greenish-black bruise.</p><p>The Marauders' Map hadn't let her down: Draco Malfoy was slumped on the ground beside the crackling fire, his hands tightly bound to the wall above his head... and that was probably the only reason he was still upright.</p><p>She hadn't thought it could be possible for him to be in worse shape than he'd been the night before, but, horrifyingly, she realized she was wrong. His ragged shirt had been lost between then and now, revealing not only more dried blood, bruises, and absolute filth darkening every inch of his body, but fresh patches of badly burnt skin all over his chest. Standing out starkly amongst the painful-looking marks was a large <strong>M</strong>, which she could only assume stood for Malfoy, seared in the very centre. An even larger <strong>X</strong> had been burned through it, as if to cross it out.</p><p>For a moment, Hermione felt as if she'd been sucked into the vacuum inside a seashell, an empty void in the midst of a crowded room. She vaguely registered that the loud, almost painful booming of the radio had been turned off and replaced with the obvious sounds of a television. She hardly noticed Ronáld move his arm from around her neck to around her shoulders, taking a lazy swig from the gold flask in his other hand. He spoke again, but whatever was said was no more than a distant buzz.</p><p>This couldn't be legal; this... this - this was utterly barbaric, <em>inhuman</em>, a merciless cruelty the likes of which Hermione had hardly witnessed, even in her own universe. This sort of prisoner treatment surely should have been considered a heinous war crime, yet here Malfoy openly suffered, and here Ronáld stood without consequence, Sovereign state royalty, still worshiped - and joined - by his peers.</p><p>More obvious injuries were becoming apparent to her: Malfoy's right leg was twisted at an abnormal angle; blood pooled around it, the femur obviously badly broken. His chest heaved raggedly, as if he was struggling and failing to breathe. Sweet Merlin, sweet Merlin, if someone didn't heal him soon, and it didn't look like Ronáld or anyone else would, Hermione didn't doubt there was a possibility he could truly die.</p><p>But what could she do?</p><p><em>This place is </em><strong><em>sick,</em></strong> she thought fiercely, desperately using all the willpower within her to maintain an expression of detached interest. She was suddenly hyperactively aware of Ronáld's arm around her and wanted to rip herself free of it; she was about to when he, thankfully, let go himself.</p><p>Drawing his wand with a drunken flourish, he pointed it at Malfoy. " 'Ey. Look'it this, pet."</p><p>Or not so thankfully.</p><p>Ronáld slurred out a spell with which Hermione was unfamiliar but that literally translated to 'flame writer,' although his pronunciation was rather dodgy. A lick of fire flew from the fireplace and hovered in front of them. As if he were concentrating immensely, Ronáld slowly gestured with his wrist, and the flame moved to the left side of Malfoy's cadaverous face like a bludger to a chaser. Malfoy instantly stiffened, his eye momentarily flying open as a sharp, muffled gasp of pain escaped his lips.</p><p>"Sorta a-artistic, eh?" Ronáld asked, looking back down at Malfoy as the fire continued to sear what appeared to be a block letter across his skin. His eye had squeezed back shut, his jaw clenched in pain. Sneering, Ronáld snarled, "Now ev'yone'll know yeh b'long t'me, y'filthy Fust-"</p><p>At that moment, Hermione recovered enough from the sheer shock of the brutality taking place before her to instinctively grab Ronáld's wand arm, violently wrenching it away from its target.</p><p>Effectively ending the spell...</p><p>...Blatantly defending Malfoy.</p><p>Abruptly, the sadistic monster beside her stopped laughing.</p><p>Too late, Hermione realized exactly what she'd done.</p><p>She hastily tried to think of a legitimate excuse as Ronáld stared down at his wand hand, his brow furrowed deeply, then looked over at her.</p><p>Two trains of thought screamed though her head: the first being, <em>Oh bugger, oh bugger – </em>stupid,<em> Hermione, stupid!,</em> versus the overwhelming sense of relief that she had stopped the torture of another human being… even if it had given her away.</p><p>
  <em>I'm feeling faint… I just remembered I left my extra makeup kit at home… I saw a spider... I -<br/></em>
</p><p>Ironically, it was Draco Malfoy who saved her then.</p><p>"I… hope you… burn in<em> hell, </em>Weasley," he choked out hoarsely, his chest shuddering as he gasped in erratic gulps of air.</p><p>A large, sloppy <strong>W</strong> was now boldly burned into his left cheek.</p><p>Ronáld's attention was instantly drawn from Hermione to him. "Oh, sun'ly so bold, are yeh? <em>CRUCIO!"</em></p><p>The spell was short - he was probably too drunk to remember how to hold it on - but it hit Malfoy squarely in the abdomen. Hermione cringed as the Slytherin violently slammed backward into the wall, the side of his head cracking loudly against it.</p><p>Her vision began to dot black; she suddenly realized her lungs had stopped working and forced herself to take steady, even breaths, if only to maintain an adequate flow of oxygen to her strategic centre.</p><p>
  <em>I can Stun him. I can Stun Ronáld, blast the rest of them out of the way and hide with Malfoy in the Room of Requirement.</em>
</p><p>Except someone here probably already <em>knew</em> about the Room of Requirement. And didn't Pansy say that all Hermione had to do was say Pansy's name, and she would appear? So wouldn't that ability apply to Ronáld with Malfoy as well, making some form of 'stealing' him impossible?</p><p>The unworkable situation made her want to scream, but she tried to focus on Ronáld rather than the fact that Malfoy had suddenly gone completely limp, blood streaming down the right side of his face.</p><p>"Tryin'a show off for <em>my</em> girlfriend, eh?" Ronáld continued without notice. He looked over at Hermione, taking another swig from the flask. "Y'know, you ri'lly should 'ave a go at 'em, My. What with 'ow 'e asked yeh to the Ball an' all. Narked the <em>'ell</em> outta yeh."</p><p>Her brows furrowed. "Wha—? Huh."</p><p>Swiftly, a plan – granted, a rather far-fetched plan, but one better than blasting Ronáld out of the way, stealing Malfoy and trying to make a run for it – struck her.</p><p>Hermione ran with it while she had the chance.</p><p>Quickly pasting a bright smile across her face, she tucked her arm in his. "Why Ronáld, that's simply a <em>wonderful</em> idea."</p><p>The redhead began to nod smugly, as if to agree, but then stopped, frowning. A second later, he jerked and squinted down at her, astonishment scrawled across his face. <em>"What?"</em></p><p>"Oh, you <em>are</em> a genius!" Hermione went on cheerfully, playing the part for all she was worth. "I've had an awful, <em>dreadful</em> day. First my mobile disappears, and then after Divination, I broke a nail!"</p><p>Behind her back, she hastily ripped off the top of the manicured nail on her middle finger and vehemently held it up for him to see. Luckily (or disappointingly), Ronáld didn't catch the double meaning of the gesture, and rolled his eyes.</p><p>"Oi, My, it's <em>only</em> a-"</p><p>"No, don't you even say it, Ronáld. It isn't 'only a nail' or 'only a mobile.' They're <em>part</em> of me. And now they're gone." Blinking back tears for a different reason entirely, Hermione sniffed and tilted her head toward Malfoy, who hadn't moved from his distressingly lifeless position save his heaving chest. "Tonight, I could do for a little… private torture."</p><p>She almost choked on the words.</p><p>Ronáld's expression had morphed into that of a dismayed child whose favorite toy had just been taken from him. "But - But tonigh' you're suppose'a be <em>mine!"</em></p><p><em>Erm, I don't </em>quite<em> recall receiving that memo…</em></p><p>Hermione summoned the same spoilt-girl pout she'd often seen the Pansy Parkinson of her world wear. "Oh, but Ronáld, you just said I could have him! And it really would make me feel better... Pleeaase?" Swallowing repugnance, she slowly ran her hand up and down his arm, then pushed herself up on tiptoe, leaning up to his ear. "And then… maybe tomorrow…" she whispered, trailing off in a manner she hoped was suggestive.</p><p>Unexpectedly, he decided to take advantage of her proximity and dropped his mouth to her neck in an attempt to snog; Hermione disgustedly yanked herself away and danced a step beyond his reach, resisting the urge to reach for her wand and stun him senseless. "I promise I'll give him back when I'm done!" she added innocently, trying not to sound as if she was begging.</p><p>"<em>My!" </em>he whined.</p><p>He sounded so tortured that if she'd had no idea of who was speaking or the context, she would have actually felt sorry for him. She gestured at Malfoy unconcernedly, then arched her eyebrow suggestively. "Give me him," she purred, twisting the right side of her lip upward in an attempt at a seductive expression, "and I'll give you a kiss."</p><p>Ronáld went silent, as if deeply pondering the possibility of this exchange. Loud, violent noises from the television, the low, muttered laughing of some boys who had remained in the armchairs in front of said Muggle contraption, and Malfoy's laboured, uneven breaths were the only sounds around her.</p><p>Hermione held her breath.</p><p>
  <em>Please Godric… Please work… Please…</em>
</p><p>After several seconds, Ronáld began to fumble with something on his wrist, looking displeased. "Alright, My. <em>F-Fine.</em> You can have 'em." Once he managed to remove it, Hermione saw that it was a gold-plated watch, which took him three attempts to shove into her hands.</p><p>She started at it blankly. It was a Wizex, the most expensive brand of Wizarding watches available. She assumed that, in this situation, it was supposed to have some other significance. Why was he was giving her <em>this</em> and not Malfoy?</p><p>"Oh goodness… <em>thanks</em>, Ronáld," she said carefully, trying to restrain an injection of sarcasm.</p><p>Now Ronáld was the one pouting. He lowered a finger on her sternly. "Bring'um back t'morrow."</p><p>At once, Hermione made the connection: Pansy had said that one of the stipulations of the House-Witch bond was that she could be summoned at will by her owner. Perhaps the person who was doing the summoning had to have a key that linked the two. A wand acted as a summoning channel for House-Elves, who could pop into appearance around any wizard. Perhaps around humans who were only being <em>made</em> to act as House-Elves, a different sort of key had to be used... similar to a Portkey.</p><p>She hoped to the heavens she was right.</p><p>"Of course I will. Oh, Ronáld, <em>thank</em> you!" she exclaimed again, shoving a bit more happy enthusiasm behind it now that she had a faint idea of the watch's purpose.</p><p>Clutching the Wizex, she hastily turned toward the portrait hole, planning to summon Malfoy directly to her in the hallway instead of demonstrating her magical ability by levitating him out.</p><p>She had only walked a step when Ronáld grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip, abruptly yanking her to a stop.</p><p>"Now, 'bout tha' kiss," he breathed in a low voice, pulling her toward him.</p><p><em>Don't </em>touch <em>me, you beastly savage!</em></p><p>Hermione frantically tried to wrench herself from his grasp, but he was holding her too tightly. A jolt of pure panic about her <em>own </em>immediate safety stabbed through her stomach; she suddenly hated that Parvati, Lavender and company had retired to their dorms and left her completely alone...</p><p>
  <em>What would My do, what would My-?</em>
</p><p>A second before his mouth was on hers, she hastily kissed her fingers and then pressed them to Ronáld's lips, using the same motion to shove his face from hers. In motions slowed thanks to his intoxication level, Ronáld's eyes flew open, before he pulled back and gaped at her as if she'd suddenly turned into an exotic species of skrewt. In his surprise, Hermione managed to wiggle from his grip without looking too desperate about it and nearly tripped over a footrest and two coffee tables in her haste to move safely away.</p><p>When she'd placed more than half the common room between then, she winked at him.</p><p>"I said I'd kiss you, Ronáld, but I didn't say how," she purred teasingly with a breathy laugh. He still looked absolutely baffled, as if he honestly couldn't believe she had just done something like that to <em>him. </em>She forced a giggle. "Oh, Ronnie, you didn't think you'd get <em>that </em>lucky, did you?"</p><p>Giving him one final, coquettish smile, Hermione turned on her heel and flounced toward the portrait hole.</p><p>"That's dead sexy, that is," she heard Seamus comment bluntly from in front of the television, its screen flashing in an almost three-dimensional manner as some sort of building appeared to explode.</p><p>That knocked Ronáld into motion. "Don't even t-think 'bout it, that's all mine," he growled loudly enough for anyone still awake to hear. <em>"My!" </em>he barked.</p><p>
  <em>Sweet Morgana, all I have to do is make it to the bloody door!</em>
</p><p>Blood pounding in her ears, Hermione 'coolly' glanced over her shoulder in time to see the redheaded wizard drunkenly lunge after her… and gracelessly fall over the same footrest she'd narrowly managed to avoid a minute earlier.</p><p>
  <em>Oh thank Merlin.</em>
</p><p>She dove out the portrait hole to gales of laughter behind her, though none sounded like it belonged to Ronáld.</p><p>The cool air of the stone corridor was a welcome relief. Hermione gasped in a thankful breath, transformed her heels into flats, and took off down the dark hallway, her mind on overdrive.</p><p>Within thirty seconds, she'd made it to the nearest turn and skidded to a stop halfway down the next corridor. Without pausing to catch her breath, praying, <em>praying</em> that the Wizex was what she thought it was, she tightly gripped the solid gold wristband and said in a clear but hushed voice, "Draco Malfoy!"</p><p>In less than a second, the man she'd never dreamed she'd be fighting to save popped into appearance as if he'd simply Apparated there. His hands were still chained, though no longer to the wall, and the heavy metal was the first to drop as he slumped to the stone floor, visibly and audibly struggling to breathe.</p><p>
  <em>Thank you Merlin, I was right.</em>
</p><p>Bending double, she rested her forearms on her knees, panting heavily. What she wanted more than ever was to find the nearest soft patch of ground and collapse onto it, but she allowed herself no more than five seconds to recover from both the sprint and trauma of the last thirty minutes. She feared she was going to have a great deal more running to do that night, and she wanted to be done with it all before Ronáld had begun to feel the slightest hint of a hangover.</p><p>Hermione took one last, slow breath and focused on Malfoy. The passageway was so dark that if it weren't for his ragged breaths, she wouldn't have even known he was there. Awkwardly slipping the too-large watch around her wrist, she drew her wand, crouching in front of him.</p><p>"Lumos," she muttered.</p><p>As the soft light illuminated the extent of the ghastly contusions darkening Malfoy's pale skin, her breath hitched.</p><p>Oh Sweet Morgana, he was in devastatingly bad shape.</p><p>Doing her best to block the sheer emotional response his injuries provoked, she swiftly and objectively evaluated them once more, or what she could see of them from his sprawled position on the ground. She had some healing experience, yes, but a trip to the Hospital Wing was looking more and more necessary. For the burns, she needed a restorative cream, which she didn't have, nor did she have the training to fix a broken femur entirely, either. But what worried her most were the decidedly abnormal, gasping sounds Malfoy made whenever he sucked in a sharp gulp of air. If his lung or lungs was punctured, Madam Pomfrey was the only one who could help him.</p><p>And she would need to help him very, very soon.</p><p>"Malfoy. Malfoy, how long have you been breathing like this?" she hissed urgently, hastily throwing a cagey glance over her shoulder toward the main hallway.</p><p>Weakly, he lifted his head to stare at her, his jaw clenched in obvious pain. "W-Why in the - name of - Merlin's <em>ghost</em> are you - helping me?" he croaked out faintly between wheezing gasps of air.</p><p>His response was enough to trigger harsh memories of the miserable git of a Malfoy she knew and loathed, the same Malfoy who had stood aside and watched while she was <em>tortured</em> on the floor of his home. "Really? You're <em>actually</em> asking me that question right now?" she snapped in disbelief.  </p><p>At the pure force behind her words, he shrank backward into the wall like he had when she'd raised her voice around him the night before, coughing roughly.</p><p>His entire body was shaking.</p><p>Guilt instantly flooded her. <em>Bloody Morgana, Hermione, it isn't</em> that <em>Malfoy anymore! Remember! </em><strong><em>Remember!</em></strong></p><p>She forced herself to take a deep breath, to slow down, to breathe.</p><p>"I'm sorry," she said after a second. "It's the situation, not you. I'm not going to hurt you, Malfoy. You have my word."</p><p>Belatedly, she realized that My's word probably meant very little to him. Though he didn't move in response, she muttered her favorite healing spell on the ugly, bleeding gash near his temple. "I'm helping you because I can," she said quietly as the faint orange glow settled around it, closing the wound. "And that's unfortunately the only answer I can give you."</p><p>A single gray eye exhaustedly cracked opened again, wordlessly staring up at her. For a moment, Hermione met his gaze, but quickly shook herself, moving on to his upper body. If he wasn't going to tell her, she was going to have to evaluate him herself.</p><p>Gingerly, she gently pressed two fingers against the left side of his chest, being careful to avoid any of the burns. His dirt-covered skin was gritty beneath her fingers, wet with a feverish sweat, but he showed no physical response to her prodding.</p><p>"Good, good," Hermione muttered, moving to the right. At the slightest bit of pressure, the Slytherin gasped sharply, the breath painfully deep and sucking, yet, at the same time, visibly not providing enough air. She sat back as he began to cough uncontrollably, surveying him worriedly.</p><p>Bugger, it <em>had</em> to be...</p><p>Hauling herself to her feet, Hermione pointed her wand at him. "Right, we're going to the Hospital Wing."</p><p>"Won't… help me…" he said faintly, and with an alarming amount of difficulty.</p><p>"Ohhh yes they will." With a flick of her wrist, Hermione levitated him beside her, then hurriedly pulled the Marauders' Map from where she'd shrunk it and stuck it down her blouse, scanning the route to Hospital Wing. Aside from the nearest floating label, <em>Charity Burbage,</em> two floors down, it appeared to be clear -</p><p>"Granger!"</p><p>Malfoy suddenly grabbed her wrist with both of his chained hands. She nearly dropped the Map in surprise, but he continued to cling to her with a strength she didn't expect from anyone in his physical condition. His unswollen gray eye desperately met hers, glistening in the light of her wand.</p><p>"Please… just - let - me - <em>die,"</em> he breathed fiercely, a sharp, struggling gasp of air punctuating each word.</p><p>Hermione stared at him in horror.</p><p>Absolute, fierce sincerity cloaked every pleading aspect of his expression. His request was genuine.</p><p>The bottom fell out of her stomach, and she was suddenly unable to breathe herself.</p><p>Honestly, a part of her - a part of her understood. Even if he was healed now, the cruel cycle would only begin again when she had to return him to Ronáld... who, astoundingly, had obviously managed to keep him from dying of his wounds in the past. This was probably his only way – his only chance – to escape.</p><p>But then the will to live, the same will that had carried her through the last year of the war, took control as it always had, and didn't just speak but screamed in her ear:</p><p><em>No, damn it! Giving up is not the answer! </em>Dying<em> is not the bloody answer! </em></p><p>There was no certainty that Dumbledore was going to rule Britain forever. He'd have to die of old age sometime soon, wouldn't he? What if the totalitarian society had a change of regime and of morality?</p><p>And where was the rest of the world through all of this? Even in a universe of opposites, there still seemed to be societal complexity; surely some countries existed that would be willing to condemn the humanitarian crisis occurring here. What if someone, perhaps even <em>she,</em> could seek the International Confederation of Wizards' help and bring external support to the House-Wizards' aid; what if laws were changed and slavery revoked; what if everyone who had once thought they had nothing left at all were given another chance at life?</p><p>Merlin help her, she didn't care if what she did next was right or wrong… but she couldn't simply stand by and watch the happily smiling boy in the yearbook photograph die. Not when <em>hope still existed,</em> no matter how faint it was<em>.</em></p><p><em>"No,"</em> she whispered.</p><p>The desperation in his gaze was visibly crushed by the single word. After a moment, his eye rolled back, and he limply slumped in the air, long overdue for a loss of consciousness from what Hermione could only imagine was unimaginable pain.</p><p>For another minute, she remained frozen, her heart still pounding with the enormity of the life or death decision she had just made for him.</p><p><em>Good Merlin, don't just stand there! </em>her mind finally yelled.</p><p>Her feet began to move mechanically along the corridor, taking Draco Malfoy with her.</p><p>Because if she didn't make it to the Hospital Wing very quickly, his request might very well come true.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Unnatural Eloquence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"No."</p><p><em>"No?"</em> Hermione echoed dumbly, staring at the Hogwarts matron.</p><p>"Lady Evans, I understand your predicament, but I am not authorized to treat any House-Wizards, let alone <em>that</em> one," Madam Pomfrey added as if she'd just eaten something disgusting, her supposedly unbiased professionalism slipping slightly with the words. "This may seem like just another school wing to you, but it's actually a highly respected medical facility. There's a Healer training clinic in Hogsmeade that takes House-Wizards; I'm sure you can ship him out in the morning."</p><p>Hermione clenched her jaw to keep herself from gaping stupidly at the woman. This was a severely injured human being; didn't taking a medical vow upon the completion of Healer training include aiding all who needed saving, regardless of social position?</p><p>"Lord Ronáld will be highly displeased if he dies," she sniffed, trying to sound more miffed than worried. "You don't want that, do you?"</p><p>"Death for that creature isn't a concern. That's one's got a Pacemaker charm on his heart. A gradual healing enchantment kicks in when it's activated."</p><p>Hermione had never heard of a 'Pacemaker' healing charm, but was aware of what a Muggle pacemaker was. Feigning ignorance, she asked irritably, "And that's supposed to be helpful when he's <em>bleeding</em> to death...?"</p><p>"In cases like this it'll keep the Fusty alive long enough for the Mediwitch students to undo most long-lasting damage tomorrow," Pomfrey said impatiently. "Obviously it doesn't work for things like the Killing Curse, certain poisons, major arterial bleeds and constant internal hemorrhaging…"</p><p>Pomfrey carelessly threw out the explanation as if there was nothing <em>wrong</em> with it, when everything was. Was this what the Weasleys, what even Hogwarts did to keep House-Wizards and Witches alive and tormentable without lifting a finger to heal them themselves? This was a human rights violation of the highest degree - how was it not considered a crime?</p><p>"Well, I want to use him <em>now!"</em> she said, stomping her foot.</p><p>The matron shook her head firmly, her mouth tensely pressed in a thin line. "I'm quite sorry, Lady Evans, but that's all I can do. Now if you'll kindly remove… <em>that</em> from my ward – " She gestured disgustedly outside her office door, where she'd made Hermione leave a still-unconscious Malfoy on the floor, and stepped forward as if to brush past Hermione into the main body of the clinic.</p><p>Pacemaker spell or not, Hermione quickly sidestepped in front of her, trying not to let her expression belay her panic. "Madam Pomfrey, really, you don't have to be so unreasonable about something like this." She was desperate, which meant that it was time to pull out the only card she had left. She frowned theatrically. "Oh, I'd just hate to have to call my mother..."</p><p>She said it quietly enough that she may as well have been talking to herself, but Pomfrey stopped walking out the doorway of her starkly decorated office. "Your mother?" she asked warily.</p><p>"Of course!" Hermione widened her eyes innocently, nonchalantly twirling some unnaturally smooth hair around her finger, and forced her mind to think past the pressure in her chest, so intense she felt like she was about to go into cardiac arrest. "If I talk to her, I'm just certain she'd be able to arrange something…"</p><p>Pomfrey spun abruptly. "I might be able to take a look at him. But legally, I can only do so much." She gave Hermione a scathing look but headed back into her office, and gestured for Hermione to follow.</p><p>For a moment, Hermione wondered at the type of person Lily Evans must be to cause such apprehension in even the most stubborn of individuals, but Pomfrey's next question cut her contemplation short.</p><p>"He isn't covered; who should I bill for the treatment?" she asked briskly, pulling some paperwork from her desk instead of helping the man who was <em>bloody well suffering on the floor outside!</em></p><p>"The Weasleys, of course!" Hermione snapped, trying to hold in her desperation.</p><p>She regretted her lapse of apathy when Pomfrey glanced up at her irately. "Lady Evans, really, there's no need to cause a fuss. I told you I'd take care of the worst of it."</p><p>Hermione silently cursed herself. By this point, she was near certain that Pomfrey would give Malfoy the worst care possible if only to get back at her. Her mind quickly attempted to construct a more sympathy-inducing situation. "It's just, you see - Ronáld and I are doing so well, I just can't stand the thought of ruining our relationship over something as silly as my being unable to return his House-Wizard to him on time tomorrow morning. You understand, don't you?" She wrung her hands and looked at Madam Pomfrey beseechingly.</p><p>Pomfrey studied her for a moment, then sighed as if surrendering and began to scribble out the forms in front of her. "Oh, yes, I know the joy of relationships all too well - my husband can't stand me being gone eight months out the year. Bloody snit doesn't offer to come here and visit, though, does he? Are you currently in possession of his lead?"</p><p>She was speaking so briskly that Hermione almost lost track of where the rant ended and the question began. She stared at the woman blankly, but after a second followed Pomfrey's gaze until it landed on the large gold wristwatch still clutched tightly in her hand. "Oh, yes." She held it out, silently wanting to shake the Mediwitch to hurry her pace. "Here."</p><p>"No, I just need to see it. Sign here."</p><p>Hermione practically snatched up the pen and began to carefully write 'Hermi-' before she caught herself with a lurch. Was that still considered her full name here? Or was it My, but which My? My Evans? My Granger Evans?</p><p>She scribbled a nearly illegible 'MGE' to avoid any mess about lack of signature alignment with the old My. "Is that all?" she asked brusquely.</p><p>"Yes, yes, calm yourself, Lady Evans, I'll have a look at him now."</p><p>Though she had given her reassurance that she'd at least treat the worst of Malfoy's wounds, Pomfrey still looked somewhat disgusted as she headed into the Hospital Wing. Hermione guessed the Mediwitch would at the least fix what was broken and/or punctured, but she wasn't going to take the chance of being caught unprepared if Pomfrey considered any of his other injuries "too beneath her" to heal.</p><p>Miserable bint.</p><p>"I'll just be waiting in here, then!" Hermione trilled after her, turning her gaze to the walls of Pomfrey's small but stocked office the minute the witch moved from her line of sight. She forced a nervous giggle. "Blood and all, wouldn't you know…"</p><p>She had "borrowed" a few healing creams from the Hospital Wing on more than a few occasions that the Trio had gotten into messes they weren't supposed to have messed with. From a quick survey, she found that the Pomfrey of this universe seemed to have the same organizational skills as the Pomfrey she knew.</p><p><em>"Replicatus," </em>she murmured, duplicating the jar of burn cream and then the flask of Nerve Soother Tonic and shrinking them to the size of small pebbles. For a moment, she considered her leave-nothing-to-the-imagination uniform for any potential hiding places and settled upon slipping them underneath the top of her thigh-high stocking. She still needed a simple pain draught, though.</p><p>Briefly glancing behind her to ensure Pomfrey was well out of viewing range, she stood on tiptoe and began to rifle through the rack of vials at the very top of Pomfrey's storage cabinet-</p><p>"Lady Evans!"</p><p>Hermione leapt as high as a startled rabbit, her eyes flying in dread to the office door.</p><p>The room was still empty.</p><p>She gasped in a breath of relief, clutching at her pounding chest. The Mediwitch must have been right <em>outside</em> the office door, she thought, as Pomfrey continued, "You can come out now."</p><p>
  <em>Sweet Morgana, I've got to learn to control that!</em>
</p><p>She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to compose herself. <em>Alright. Calm down, Hermione. Finish what you started!</em></p><p>Quickly, she silently summoned the pain draught, duplicated it, and stored it with her other spoils. Within a matter of seconds, she was sashaying outside her in My gait. She couldn't imagine that Pomfrey had finished, especially with injuries as severe as Malfoy's, so what could she have needed -?</p><p>In what was thankfully becoming habit, she again had to force her mouth from dropping open when she saw that Draco Malfoy was still sprawled, unconscious, dirty, and blood-covered on the cold tile where she had left him, large burns and bruises still horribly stark against his dirty but ghostly pale skin. Madam Pomfrey was standing over him, her wand hanging beside her; it appeared she hadn't even crouched beside him while she had "healed" him. High disgust filled the older woman's expression as she briefly appraised a man still horribly wounded.</p><p>"This one's out of harm's way," she said tautly. "Ship him out in the morning if you'd like more done, but he can't stay here. I won't have Fusty filth like that on my floor."</p><p>She spit out "Fusty" as derogatorily as "Mudblood," and a wave of nausea threatened to explode from Hermione's throat. Even if the prejudice wasn't directed at her anymore, she remembered the experience of being subjected to it as clearly as if it still was. When it had been only insults, she'd easily brushed it aside. But here, where bigoted words directly translated to violent actions, she felt herself again growing angry <em>for</em> Malfoy.</p><p>"Oh, of course; I'll just go back to where I came from and call him from there," she said perkily, momentarily swallowing her anger out of necessity. She stared at Malfoy in subdued horror. Had the bloody woman treated him at all?</p><p>"What in Merlin's name was wrong with him?" she asked innocently, if only to ascertain that Pomfrey really <em>had </em>done something.</p><p>"Collapsed lung, some broken ribs, fractured femur." Pomfrey stuck her wand in her belt and stepped over Malfoy and into her office. "Nothing that couldn't be dealt with quickly."</p><p><em>Right, that's why you made Cormac McLaggern spend over three days in the Hospital Wing after he took a bludger to the chest with similar injuries, </em>she thought darkly, but didn't press the subject.</p><p>It was a worst case scenario quality of care, but Hermione knew better than to press her luck. If that was the most professional work she could get out of Pomfrey, so be it. At least she had handled the most complicated injuries, rather than leave Malfoy to suffer through near death and a 'gradual healing enchantment.'</p><p>After a moment, she remembered she had to at least pretend to be grateful. She turned and leaned around the doorframe into Pomfrey's office, giving the Mediwitch a saccharine smile. "Oh, Madam Pomfrey, I just couldn't have done this without you!"</p><p>"That I don't doubt," she heard Pomfrey mutter.</p><p>
  <em>I heard that, you old toad.</em>
</p><p>"What?" Hermione asked sweetly, though she knew full well what the woman had said.</p><p>"I said, just see your way out, Lady Evans. Give my best regards to your mother."</p><hr/><p>Draco Malfoy was in hell.</p><p>His entire body burned. Hot fire coursed through his legs like electricity. His lungs seared with every breath he took. He was screaming on the inside, and on the outside, everyone howled with laughter, sneering the familiar chant: <em>Fusty, Fusty, worthless filthy Fusty…</em></p><p>And there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't even die.</p><p>Flames blazed around him. He struggled to move, to run, to do something, <em>anything</em>, but his limbs remained motionless, filled with pure lead. He tried to choke in a breath but couldn't breathe. All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut, unable and unwilling to give them all the added pleasure of seeing his emotions, his pain, even though it hurt <em>so much...</em> so much...</p><p>But then - inexplicably - the familiar nightmare changed.</p><p>As if a wave of water had crashed over him, coolness doused the flames. He gasped in relief as it enveloped him like a soothing balm. From very far away, is if someone was calling from the other side of a tunnel, a familiar female voice echoed, <em>"Haaarrry… Are you alriiight, Haarrrry?"</em></p><p><em>Not - Harry, </em>he thought in frustration. But in the middle of the nightmare that forever surrounded him, it was better than nothing, and he sank into the voice anyway as it gently wrapped around him. The raw fear and agony that was constant always slowly drained from his mind, from his tense yet useless muscles as she repeated, over and over, <em>"Harrrry… It's alright, Harry…. Can you hear me? Are you conscious?"</em></p><p>Oddly, gradually, her voice began to grow louder and more tangible, as if she was walking toward him. But in the gray darkness surrounding him, he couldn't see from where.</p><p>
  <em>"Wake up. Wake up…"</em>
</p><p>Suddenly, the voice was right in his ear. "Malfoy, wake up!"</p><p>Draco's heart lurched and began pounding in his chest.</p><p>She had... had she just... said <em>his</em> name?</p><p>Some part of his mind began to struggle for answers, but complete thoughts failed to piece themselves together. He longed to open his eyes, but the left felt heavier than a Hungarian Horntail, the right not far behind. It took a moment to realize that the lack of pain in his chest didn't mean he was dead or in some strange sort of netherworld, but that he was breathing normally, and it didn't hurt. His legs didn't feel as if someone had tried to rip them off, and succeeded. He wasn't lying cramped in a hollowed cell, but was stretched out on something indescribably soft. And his hands - his fingers twitched weakly, connecting with cool, smooth fabric - were they at his sides, unchained?</p><p>Whatever sort of dream this was, he surrendered every inch of himself to it willingly, his body practically crying out in relief.</p><p>"Oh, bugger it," he heard someone mutter who was not a Weasley.</p><p>Something cold touched his chest, and searing pain exploded through his senses.</p><p>Draco gasped before he could help it, his right eye flying open of its own accord to see a small, windowless bedroom or sitting room, dimly illuminated from a fire burning in a nearby hearth and a light source somewhere behind them. And he was on a bed.</p><p><em>"Bloody-!</em>" exclaimed a woman's voice.</p><p>Cold fear surged through him. His body instinctively tried to shove itself backward, only to meet a solid surface blocking his retreat. His already exhausted head began to pound, and he couldn't see out of his left eye; the entire left side of his face felt five sizes too big, in fact...</p><p>The unmistakable sound of a fire spitting sparks cut through the bewilderment crippling him, and his limited gaze shot toward the crackling flames. Terror in the form of pure adrenaline exploded through his chest, and he cringed backward; this wasn't a <em>dream,</em> this was still the same unending nightmare-</p><p>"Malfoy?"</p><p>He flinched in surprise, the vocalization unexpected and all too near. Swiveling his head toward it, his panicked gaze met wide, familiar brown eyes.</p><p>He froze.</p><p>My Granger was staring back at him, looking as sleek and smooth as ever. With one hand over her chest, she even had the nerve to look startled, laughable as that was. What could he possibly do to her?</p><p>All his senses quivering, Draco stared at her, the pain from his abrupt motions radiating belatedly through his body. Frantically, he tried to make a lick of sense of the sight before him: his hands were indeed unchained, his previously raw-rubbed wrists wrapped in gauze, and just as quickly noticed that one of her own hands - hovering in front of her - was covered with orange slime. He again looked around the room, the plush mahogany furniture and rich decor convincing him more firmly that this was no sitting room. The mattress he was laying on alongside the wall was smaller than he would have expected, but he - was he in her <em>bedroom?</em></p><p><em>"Malfoy,"</em> she repeated again, this time more firmly.</p><p>At once, his heart began to pound so hard he was afraid it might burst.</p><p>
  <em>No, not this, <strong>please</strong> not this -</em>
</p><p>Desperately, he searched the edges of the unfamiliar space for some sign of either Weasley. He had become all too familiar with their methods of torture, but at least those he could anticipate, could steel himself for; this was new, unexpected, and with<em> her -</em></p><p>The fire crackled loudly again, a constant reminder of torture to come. His eyes shot back toward it and his breath hitched; against his will, his brain switched off entirely. He wanted to run, to hide, to plead for them to forget he existed, but base instinct immobilized him. Fighting to control his breaths, to breathe at all, he waited in dread, the flames blurring before him.</p><p>
  <em><strong>Please</strong> let it be over soon, please, <strong>please-</strong></em>
</p><p>"Does that... bother you?" Granger asked suddenly, her voice oddly... hesitant. "The fire?"</p><p>Her voice jerked Draco's focus from his frantic thoughts back to her. She had glanced toward the fireplace as well, but then she looked at him. And her expression... her expression - it was...</p><p>Unexpectedly, something inside him broke that he hadn't even realized was still held together.</p><p>Granger's expression wasn't of arrogance, or detachment or disdain or hate or ridicule, but a gentleness and seemingly genuine concern he hadn't seen directed toward him, toward anyone around him since before... before the...</p><p>He couldn't bring himself to finish a thought that would conjure an agonizing memory of happier times.</p><p>For once in his imprisonment, some part of him actually felt drawn to respond to her. His parched lips parted, but past experience pinned him in place. Was this a dream, or was this a game? Questions were never for his benefit and always for theirs; if this <em>was</em> a game, he certainly wasn't going to voluntarily offer up his weaknesses -</p><p>Suddenly, from the edge of view, the flames blinked out of sight, as if they'd been Vanished.</p><p>Draco stared toward the abruptly empty fireplace dumbly. He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly.</p><p>"I... thought you'd remember, but... Malfoy, it's safe here," Granger said gently, then. "I know that may seem hard to believe, but I swear to you, it's alright."</p><p>His incredulous gaze shifted swiftly back toward her. Watching him just as closely, she held up one normal and one slime-covered hand, as if to demonstrate she was unarmed. "I'm the only one in this room, beside you. There's no one else. It's just me." Her voice was soft, as if soothing a wild animal. "I'm not going to hurt you. Do you remember what I told you, outside the common room? I'm helping you. I'm <em>helping</em> you. You don't... have to be afraid."</p><p>Her eyes were unnaturally kind. Draco was trapped in them like he had been in the courtyard outside Hogwarts, when she'd healed his back, tried to free him, even... acted like someone he didn't even know. But that - he'd thought that had been just a dream. He'd spent the rest of that day - and the one after - going over her actions. No explanation he could rationalize or imagine, however mad, had seemed even halfway plausible otherwise.</p><p>But then...</p><p>Blurred memories he'd rather not recall flooded him anyway, and he internally winced as he felt the sensation of lines of fire slowly tracing across his body, of the hexes, the insults, the curses that his mind had partially attempted to block from recollection. Through the haze, he vaguely remembered Granger talking to him, telling him she couldn't say why she was helping him... refusing to just let him die.</p><p>Only after his racing thoughts began to slow did he realize he was calming down.</p><p>"Malfoy?" she said again, sounding tentative.</p><p>Draco could literally count on both hands the amount of times his real name had been used to address him since he'd been imprisoned. The fact that she was saying it <em>so much </em>now made his ears ring.</p><p>He blinked, refocusing on her cautiously poised figure. Now that the initial rush of adrenaline had drained from him, he just felt utterly spent, and his exhausted muscles collapsed beneath him as he slumped back down on the blessedly soft mattress.</p><p>"Lady Evans," he croaked, even though she didn't sound a bit like shallow My Granger. The words grated painfully against his dry throat.</p><p>She stiffened, lowering her hands. "I'd... rather you didn't call me that, actually."</p><p>He winced, trying to shift his weight off his arm. "You'd... prefer - 'Your Highness?' "</p><p>As soon as the hoarse words left his mouth unbidden, he reflexively flinched and mentally braced himself for a backhand or worse. He was surprised when a swift punishment never came. Instead, she only shot him a withering look. "Granger works just as well." She glanced back down at the orange concoction on her hand, then nodded pointedly at his throbbing chest. "Now, if you feel up for it, I'd rather like to use this burn cream on its intended target before it starts healing<em> me."</em></p><p>Draco stared dumbly at her again - at her intentions, one, and that she was was even asking permission to do what she wanted with him, above all. After a beat too long, he nodded - what choice did he have really, even still? - and she began to work on him. He was astonished when the "burn cream" did indeed turn out to be burn cream, not some kind of pain-inducing amalgam, and after the initial shock of contact, it soothed and numbed the charred skin entirely.</p><p>Feeling nauseous, Draco bit his lip so hard he tasted the bitter tang of blood and forced his gaze away from the wounds and scars covering his body - a body he no longer even recognized, felt detached from. It had become nothing more than a vehicle for the infliction of pain, and if he <em>could</em> mentally sever himself from it completely, he would in a heartbeat.</p><p>Then again, technically it wasn't even 'his' body anymore, he thought dully.</p><p>Despair, cold and absolute, crept through his chest straight to his heart. He closed his eye before the tears suddenly burning it could visibly manifest themselves, gripping the smooth folds of the blanket beneath him, willing himself to stop caring, stop thinking, stop <em>feeling.</em> Every time he made the mistake of allowing himself to be anything but numb, it proved to be too painful, too much... and right now, he was feeling far, <em>far</em> too much.</p><p>Suddenly desperate to move, if only to reassure himself that he actually could, he weakly lifted a hand to gingerly feel the skin around his immobile left eye.</p><p>"Don't touch that," she said abruptly.</p><p>Draco froze, the Ordered words the equivalent of a slap across the face. His dread faded to confusion when she added quickly, "Sorry, I mean - it's covered with bruise cream. You'll spread it. The inflammation should go down in a few hours."</p><p>He slowly lowered his hand, clenching it at his side. "Why... are you... doing this, Granger?" he rasped.</p><p>She sighed.</p><p>"I already told you, Malfoy. It's… private." She briefly glanced at him sideways with an expression that actually appeared apologetic. "I'm sorry."</p><p>Even that didn't make sense. "There's absolutely…" His knackered mind struggled to verbally piece together the main thought that had confounded him since My Granger had abruptly reappeared in his existence, "Absolutely nothing in it for you…"</p><p>She was silent for a moment. "Yes, there is," she said quietly. "You needed help. And I'm giving it to you. That's what's in it for me."</p><p>"My Granger doesn't have a conscience," he breathed hoarsely.</p><p>"Look, as hard as it may be for you to stop questioning my motives, you're going to have to," she said brusquely. "Right now, I'd quite like to focus on finishing healing you, if you don't mind."</p><p>Draco's head was spinning. There was no way on earth he was laying next to My Granger. My Granger was <em>not</em> this well-spoken. My Granger didn't know how to heal. My Granger would never treat him or any conservative like this. It was almost as if he was actually talking to…</p><p>He didn't allow himself to finish the thought; it'd be a sure sign he'd gone mad if he did. To avoid even more confusion, he decided to pretend that she wasn't really My Granger at all, but rather someone completely different who was inhabiting her body, with the aid of Polyjuice Potion, perhaps. Someone like... Pansy.</p><p>Fondness that was well overshadowed by profound anguish gripped him at the thought of his oldest childhood friend, killed in Dumbledore's final suppression of the conservative resistance. He swallowed back the grief, forcing himself to picture Pansy's warm, smiling face.</p><p>Yes. <em>Just pretend she's Pansy</em>.</p><p>"Finish?" he eventually echoed, finally processing her last words. For a moment, he wondered if someone else was speaking for him; he barely recognized his own voice anymore.</p><p>"Pomfrey started the job, as much as she hated every second of it."</p><p>His head jerked up in his haste to look toward her. In all the days of his captivity, no Healer had ever treated him. "Madam Pomfrey… <em>healed</em> me?"</p><p>Scorn and distaste flooded her features, the expression making her look so like My Granger that it foiled any attempt on his part to imagine she had morphed into Pansy. "Well, she wasn't exactly happy about it. She did address of some of the more difficult injuries - your leg, lungs, ribs. How do those feel, by the way?"</p><p>He inhaled deeply, then glanced toward her to find her carefully following his movements with uncharacteristically keen eyes. "My chest's - alright." He shifted weakly, his muscles burning. When he tried to pull his right leg toward him, though, pain exploded through it like a thousand knives. He swiftly clamped down on his cheek to bite back the cry on his lips; instead, he forced himself to focus on breathing. "That may - hurt a bit," he gritted through clenched teeth.</p><p>At his admittance, Granger let out a string of Shakespearean-force curses aimed at the Mediwitch that would have made Pansy blush.</p><p>Draco stared at her in shock.</p><p><em>Different person! </em>he reminded himself.</p><p>He could only beg heaven, hell and everything in between that this person wouldn't change anytime soon into the self-centered, cruelly careless woman she'd always been.</p><hr/><p>Hermione awoke slowly, legs stiff from a cramped night on a spare sofa the Room of Requirement had provided. She hadn't the slightest idea what time her class was, and, frankly, she didn't even care. Shoving her face into the pillow, she gratefully stretched her legs over the sofa's edge, her aching muscles protesting.</p><p>She had fallen into an exhausted but troubled slumber beneath an extra Gryffindor-red quilt shortly after she'd finished doing the best she could for Malfoy and had left him to sleep on the bed. The horrid disgrace of a Mediwitch had seared his broken femur together, but sloppily, and had done absolutely nothing for the muscles around it, which were also injured. The muscles, Hermione managed to heal, but she suspected that unless she actually broke his bone again and repaired it correctly - a highly advanced medical procedure - she'd have little chance of eliminating, at minimum, a minor limp. Since she wasn't a fully trained Mediwitch, she wasn't prepared to subject him to that kind of pain if it might not even work.</p><p>Malfoy had seemed to take the prospect of a permanent impairment in stride, though she didn't see how he could. But he had also readily accepted a dreamless sleep potion when she'd offered it to him.</p><p>Drifting in the gray tendrils between sleep and awareness, Hermione considered the Wizex 'lead.' Considering its value and specificity, she highly doubted it could be secretly duplicated, and she was hesitant to tamper with it like she had the Marauders' Map in case sensor charms had been incorporated that would raise some sort of alarm with Sovereignty officials.</p><p>She wondered if My had a lead for Pansy. If yes, Hermione had no idea what it was.</p><p>Releasing a heavy sigh, she reluctantly rolled over, squinting in the dim light of the room.</p><p>Her eyes abruptly met startled grey.</p><p>With a lurch of surprise, Hermione sucked in a sharp breath and sat up.</p><p>Just as quickly, Malfoy averted his gaze, staring down at his lap. Tangled platinum hair that she'd attempted to clean the night before tumbled limply around his face and toward his shoulders. He was seated beside the now-abandoned bed in the same armchair she'd used while treating him, as far from her as possible while still facing in her direction. He'd wrapped the bed's plush maroon blanket tightly around him, obscuring any view of how his battered body had responded to her hasty treatment of him.</p><p>Neither of them spoke. Though Malfoy was still deathly pale, the nasty swelling around his left eye had faded to a faint bruise. But a large, unmistakable pink 'W' was still buried beneath the smudges of dirt on his cheek, despite the healing cream she'd used on it.</p><p>Hermione felt ill the longer she stared at the mark, a distinct hatred of Ronáld kindling in her veins. She looked away before she was tempted to unleash a tirade, biting her lip.</p><p>"Surprised you didn't murder me in my sleep," she ventured cautiously. With the dreamless sleep potion, she was actually surprised Malfoy was awake at all. How long had <em>she </em>been asleep?</p><p>For a moment, the same surprise - or perhaps suspicion - that he'd emoted so strongly around her over their past encounters entered his expression. After a too-long pause, he gestured at the oversized Wizex strapped awkwardly to her wrist. "I can't. You've got that."</p><p>His voice had lost some of its dry rasp and was stronger than it had been the night before. "Anyway, I-" his jaw visibly tensed, and he shifted his gaze away, his spindly fingers tightening around the thin arm of the chair, "I owe you my life. I'm not about to... kill you."</p><p>All too vividly, Hermione remembered his heartfelt plea. From that comment, she could only assume Malfoy had no idea about the complex healing enchantments that had been placed upon him to keep him from the losing the very thing he thought he owed her. But he genuinely appeared to have recovered some, thank Merlin... she wasn't certain now was the best time to tell him his tormentors could keep him alive indefinitely.</p><p>"I thought you didn't want to - live." Her voice hitched on the word.</p><p>Malfoy continued to steadily stare at the wall beside her head. "If you were me, you wouldn't have, either," he said dully.</p><p>Emotions surged through her, the strongest and most immediate being a stubborn streak of self-preservation that wrangled violently with a slow-boiling rage at Malfoy's unspeakably abusive treatment. The power of the latter frightened her, went far beyond every ire she'd <em>ever</em> felt at the plight of House-Elves in Universe A, if that was even possible, but... she couldn't ignore it. Not for Malfoy's sake... or her own sanity.</p><p>Finally, Hermione sat up fully, her legs swinging to the ground, and focused back on him, her lips pressed together determinedly. "I swear to you: I'm going to get you away from him."</p><p>A short jet of air puffed from Malfoy's nose, as if in a faint, humorless laugh, and he shook his head. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," he muttered roughly.</p><p>"Don't patronize me, I know bloody well what I'm saying. I might have been off my trolley before, but I'm not now."</p><p>He looked back at her, searching her face, though for what, she didn't know - but for a moment, like she had in the courtyard outside, she felt trapped in his gaze, felt as though his perceptive silver eyes could and did penetrate the very depths of her soul.</p><p>"Yes, I… I'm starting to see that," he eventually said in a low voice, his eyes filled with that soft, benevolent intensity that was so different from anything she had experienced with the Draco Malfoy she'd known... was so different from most anyone she'd ever known.</p><p>The urge to move suddenly gripped her. Tearing herself from his gaze, she flung the blanket from her legs and stood abruptly. Her skirt and shirt were still rolled up and tightened beyond belief from her previous night's desperate performance, and she quickly straightened them before looking over at him. "Are you hungry?"</p><p>The question was almost rhetorical; of course he must have been. Still, Malfoy's mouth opened and shut before he looked down. "Not… especially," he said tonelessly.</p><p>The shuttered desperation behind his expression betrayed the calm restraint he was showing otherwise.</p><p>Hermione studied his emaciated face and frame in concern. "Malfoy, you need to eat," she said quietly. <em>Merlin knows when you'll have the chance to again.</em> When he didn't respond, she added, "Well, <em>I'm</em> hungry, and this room can't conjure us food, so I'm going to get some. If you're placing an order, now's the time."</p><p>He hesitated again, though she noticed his arm subtly move to wrap around his abdomen. Even from across the room, she could swear she heard his stomach make a noise.</p><p>After several seconds, he muttered, "With the... way things have been, I'm - I'm not... certain I could keep much down."</p><p>Hermione blinked. Of <em>course</em>, she should have realized... when she thought about the few times during the war that she had been truly hungry - the closest experience she'd ever had to starvation - she would have surely vomited if she'd stuffed herself with rich food, especially that of Hogwarts ilk.</p><p>"Something bland and light, then," she said briskly. "Porridge, bananas, bread, broth, that sort of thing - do any of those sound tolerable?"</p><p>After a moment, Malfoy's pale brows raised ever-so-slightly. Slowly, he lifted his head, staring at her once more. His lips parted briefly, but he swallowed hard and pushed them together tightly - as if he'd wanted to say something and then thought better of it.</p><p>Something tugged deep in Hermione's chest. It wasn't the first time he'd done it, and just as Pansy had originally been afraid to speak freely to her, she didn't want the same to be true of Malfoy, either - as bizarre as that concept was in the first place. "What is it?" she asked gently.</p><p>Instead of responding, Malfoy's gaze intently yet aimlessly searched the floor for several seconds. When he finally looked up at her, the vulnerability in his expression had faded slightly to something entirely different, though Hermione couldn't quite name what.</p><p>"You know," he began slowly, "if you're going to be venturing out, you might want to..." He trailed off, gesturing at his hair.</p><p>She frowned, then caught his meaning and reached up to smooth down her own. While it felt as abnormally silky as ever, her fingers met knots; she winced and tugged at them until they pulled out. When Malfoy's lips simply twitched upward, however, Hermione crossed her arms. "What?" she demanded.</p><p>"Nothing, really, it's only - last I checked, the kitchen elves generally tend to flee from anyone who appeared even slightly psychotic. Of course," he mused as horror crossed her expression, "a lot of things have probably changed since then…"</p><p>Fearing the worse - that the smudge-proof cosmetics spell Pansy had taught her wasn't truly smudge-proof after all - Hermione rushed into the small, partitioned-off alcove beside the sofa that held a toilet, washbasin and mirror, expecting to see her oh-so-plentiful makeup smeared across her face; she obviously hadn't been thinking about removing it last night...</p><p>She stopped dead.</p><p>Her hair was a bit mussed, her uniform shirt a tad bit wrinkled, but otherwise... she looked perfectly normal.</p><p>Her mouth dropped open.</p><p>Had he... Had he been <em>teasing</em> her?</p><p>Hermione sourly exited the alcove to see that Malfoy's lip twitching had grown into a full-blown smirk, and suddenly he looked <em>very </em>much like the Draco Malfoy she knew. "You tale-telling wanker; do you really think I needed those extra ten seconds of panic right now?" she exclaimed.</p><p>A short laugh escaped him, and for a moment, such surprised delight filled his eyes that she didn't have the heart to be <em>really</em> angry with him. He cleared his throat. "Just helping keep you on your toes, Granger," he said, his smile faint but genuine - which, honestly, was quite remarkable, given where he'd been only 12 hours earlier. "Can't have anyone else suspecting you… aren't yourself."</p><p>"If that's what you call help, I really don't need it, thanks," she retorted, reluctant to release the smile she was surprised to realize she wanted to.</p><p>"To be fair, that was probably the most disheveled I've ever seen you - erm - not you." His speech was unhurried, almost leisurely, nowhere near as rapid nor snide as Malfoy's from Universe A. "You do know she'd have reacted the exact same way."</p><p>Hermione's brow lifted interestedly, curiosity snuffing her irritation. "Really?"</p><p>"Well - no." He winced slightly. "She'd have been a bit nastier. Might've clawed my eyes out. Likely would still be throwing a tantrum now. But the panicked impersonation wasn't half bad."</p><p>It suddenly occurred to her that Malfoy knew and had named her game. She frowned, worrying her lip. Obviously he wasn't stupid. It wasn't as though she could have still pretended to be harebrained My while she skillfully healed him, and of course Malfoy would have had to have been deaf and daft not to notice. Like Pansy, he clearly couldn't possibly pinpoint <em>who</em> she was, exactly - just some clueless impersonator in My Granger's body, likely - but to have him speak of it so blatantly, and oddly, seem much more accepting and comfortable with it than even Pansy had immediately been, still made her edgy.</p><p>As if he noticed her concern, Malfoy's gaze softened. "Your secret's safe with me, Granger. Whatever it is." He paused. Then, averting his gaze, he added quietly, "And if you... happened to return with any of the more tasteless forms of sustenance you mentioned earlier, I'd... I'd be very grateful."</p><p>Hermione studied him for a moment, then nodded once - an assessment, and an agreement. It would have to do for now.</p><hr/><p>When she returned to the Room of Requirement, the fraction of lightness that had preceded her departure was gone.</p><p>Malfoy was still in the bedside chair, but he appeared significantly cleaner, his hair wet, as if he'd made handy use of the side room's washbasin in the twenty minutes she'd been away. Over his tattered trousers, he had put on a loose, long-sleeved gray shirt that he must have found in one of the dressers.</p><p>When he slowly approached the small table beyond the sofa where Hermione unloaded pumpkin and chicken soup, fresh rolls, apples and porridge, he clearly favored his right leg, the limp unmistakable, even though he claimed it didn't bother him.</p><p>They ate in silence, mostly because Malfoy was carefully consuming more food than he'd likely had to eat in weeks, and Hermione was fuming. When she'd entered the kitchens (and this was the first time she had, in Universe B), Winky's familiar face had greeted her at the fruit portrait. She had of course kept her request polite, even though she'd feigned a socialite persona... but then Winky had turned, and Hermione noticed what was behind her.</p><p>Humans.</p><p>A number of them, bedraggled, some young, some old, some she vaguely recognized, though in the brief time she had to scan their faces, their names escaped her. They all wore the same bland gray uniforms that Pansy first had before Hermione had let her borrow whatever she wanted of My's clothing. When Winky had snapped her fingers and a command that included Hermione's request, a middle-aged woman and a younger man were physically jerked out of their rote cooking work, lifelessly fulfilling the order.</p><p>Hermione was horrified all over again. She supposed she should be glad House-Elves seemed to have some rights here, but if those rights included shifting their roles to be slave <em>drivers </em>of human House-Witches/Wizards, it wasn't truly an improvement, though it certainly might have seemed that way to them.</p><p>Surprisingly, Malfoy was the one to jar her from her troubled thoughts. "Where –" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, gesturing at their surroundings, "Where are we?"</p><p>Hermione blinked, realizing that, though her fork was poised over her food, she hadn't actually eaten any of it. She shook her head, sighing, and glanced around the bedroom-like setting.</p><p>"This is the Room of Requirement, also called the Come and Go Room," she explained. "It's enchanted - it can only be discovered by someone in need. It then typically changes its form and contents to meet that need, whatever it is. Some people have an easier time summoning it than others, though no one knows why."</p><p>She found herself easily recounting the Room's description provided in <em>Hogwarts, A History.</em> The Universe A familiarity of the action abruptly caused tears to prickle at her eyes<em>.</em> "Aside from a broom closet, I've never seen it manifest itself quite this small. Then again, we've always needed quite a lot of space when we've used it before," she concluded, focusing on speaking facts rather than remembering people. "What's important is that it's Unplottable, which is helping us a great deal at the moment."</p><p>When Hermione glanced back at Malfoy, he was gaping at her as if he was still trying to completely understand her. "What?" she asked defensively.</p><p>He blinked, then shook his head and returned his attention to his food, some long locks of blond hair sweeping over his forehead and into his eyes.</p><p>She sighed. "Too much information. I know."</p><p>"No." Malfoy looked back up again and hesitated. "I was thinking more that you've become… unnaturally eloquent."</p><p>It seemed like something Universe A's Malfoy would say, with his smarmy, scathing wit. <em>I suppose some things don't change, </em>she thought, and snorted slightly. "<em>'Unnaturally</em> eloquent,' " she repeated sarcastically. "Aren't you an inveigler."</p><p>He raised his eyebrows at her, as if to say, <em>See?,</em> but the lack of humor or malice in his gaze indicated he had meant no insult. "I'm just being honest. It <em>is</em> unnatural, from her. But from you, it isn't at all."</p><p>Hermione wasn't quite certain what that meant, but it was enough to cause her to continue staring at him long after he'd resumed eating.</p><p>
  <em>Well… maybe they do.</em>
</p><hr/><p>When Malfoy held out his hands to her so she could replace the shackles around his already deeply scarred wrists, his clenched fists couldn't mask their trembling. Though she hardly knew this Draco Malfoy, the idea of willingly handing him back over to people who would simply continue torturing him made Hermione feel physically ill, and she couldn't begin to imagine how <em>he</em> felt about it. But the hands of the Wizex told her she'd nearly run out of time.</p><p>The chains locked into place with a sickening <em>click.</em> Almost instantaneously, as if a five-ton weight had simultaneously been placed around his neck, Malfoy's gaunt shoulders slumped and posture collapsed. The amusement he'd worn so easily in the yearbook photo and but for a moment that morning was nowhere to be seen.</p><p>Hermione swallowed back bile, recalling how chafed his skin had been beneath the handcuffs, although it was healed for the moment.</p><p>"Wait," she said on inspiration as he began to lower his arms. Though she wasn't certain how well it would work, she added a Cushioning Charm to the metal to lessen its harshness. "Does that feel any better?"</p><p>As if to test her theory, Malfoy shifted his wrists cautiously - still seated at the table to avoid putting pressure on his injured leg. Swiftly, he looked up at her, the answer plain in his incredulous expression.</p><p>Relieved to have lessened more of his pain, even if only slightly, Hermione frowned in thought. "I should add some Glamoured injuries as well - just a few cosmetic additions. So they don't realize you're doing better than Pomfrey left you, and wonder how you got there." <em>Or hurt you immediately to make up for it. </em>It was an awful thought, but one Hermione certainly wouldn't put past any of the Gryffindor upperclassmen she'd seen standing over Malfoy last night.</p><p>Another weak, humorless breath of air escaped Malfoy's lips. "Glamoured injuries," he said wearily. "Now there's a refreshing change."</p><p>Despite his attempt at jocularity, Hermione couldn't help but feel as if she herself was fully complicit in the most heinous State-sponsored oppression as she spelled fake bruises and blood and dirt back onto his knuckles, his clothing and his head. She didn't want to think about the gaping burns on his chest, but he'd kept them covered from the moment she'd awakened, so she hadn't had the chance to see how they'd healed and could only assume they had.</p><p>She assiduously avoided making eye contact at all with this bizarrely easygoing version of the Slytherin prince, until her attention shifted out of necessity to recreating the faded swelling around his left brow and temple.</p><p>She froze.</p><p>Though his grey eyes were locked somewhere on the wall behind her, it was impossible not to see that they were glistening with emotion.</p><p>Unbidden, unwanted, Hermione's own eyes began to burn. For his sake as much as hers, she'd desperately been trying to avoid this situation from the moment she saw the extent of his injuries, but suddenly every horrendous, despicable sentiment about herself and her inability to help him spilled over.</p><p>"Malfoy, I am so, so sorry," she whispered. His red-rimmed gaze shot to hers, which only made it worse. She sucked in a sharp breath, briefly pressing her thumb and forefinger to the corners of her eyes and willing herself to <em>pull it together</em>. "I'm sorry for what's happened to you. I'm sorry for what's happened to your friends. I'm sorry that I can't keep you from going back to those wretched <em>beasts-</em>"</p><p>Suddenly, Malfoy grasped her arm lightly in both his hands, a pool of warmth blossoming beneath his touch. "Granger-"</p><p>Although his voice was unnaturally gentle, Hermione twitched in surprise and stopped speaking, the entire scene eerily reminiscent of his half-conscious plea for death the night before.</p><p>Oddly, Malfoy seemed even more surprised by his actions than she. He momentarily froze, staring at their connection, before he quickly released her.</p><p>For a moment, neither of them spoke.</p><p>"I am... grateful, for that apology, more than I can say," he said slowly, his voice almost too level. "But you've read me wrong, I think." A visible tremor wracked his hands; he clasped them tightly, staring at the floor. "I... I haven't been treated like a human being in years. I thought... I never thought I would be again, but - however this is happening - you have shown me there is still some goodness in this world." He looked up at her, the same earnestness in his expression that had been in his request to die. "And for that, you should never apologize."</p><p>Hermione's throat closed. The sincerity in his pale eyes was paralyzing, and she had no idea how long she simply stared at him, every mental wall she had desperately built up since she'd woke on the Hogwarts Express laid flat. Then she reached up, scrubbing harshly at her eyes.</p><p>"Of all the people in this world, you <em>do not</em> deserve this," she said thickly.</p><p>Malfoy blinked rapidly, his eyes still glassy. He shook his head. "No one <em>deserves</em> this, Granger. Not even them. But sometimes, it just happens." His voice was rough with emotion. "It happens faster than you can blink."</p><p>If 'them' constituted who Hermione thought it did, then she was slowly starting to realize that the Draco Malfoy of Universe B may shockingly have been even more egalitarian than she was - because right now she wouldn't have minded seeing every person responsible for this horrific violation of human rights in a cage, yet <em>he</em> was the one who was imprisoned.</p><p>She thought of Bill and Fleur's Wedding - of the happiness and celebrations, until Kingsley's Patronus had delivered the urgent news that the Ministry had fallen seconds before Death Eaters had attacked.</p><p>A government overtaken, and their lives irreparably changed... in a blink.</p><p>"You're right. Sometimes it does," she murmured. "But that doesn't mean it isn't <em>wrong."</em></p><p>Something stark but unnamable shifted in Malfoy's expression as he continued to look at her steadily. "No," he agreed softly.</p><p>The choked feeling in her throat slipped down to her stomach, and Hermione abruptly wrenched herself from the kindness in his gaze - kindness, after everything he'd been through. As genuine as he seemed, the idea of Draco Malfoy being kind at all was so foreign to her that a part of her couldn't help but wonder if he was only having one over on her so she'd continue helping him, couldn't really believe she was having this honest of a conversation with anyone here at all.</p><p>Her gaze stopped at the burned 'W,' painfully stark against the deathly pale skin of his face, enough to alter his entire appearance, even. Without thinking, she reached toward it; only his eyes flinched - whether at the sudden movement or her closeness at all, Hermione wasn't certain, but she swiftly realized her error and jerked her hand to a stop.</p><p>"Sorry- erm." She hesitated as the word spilt automatically from her mouth, and instead nodded at his cheek, steeling her voice to keep from it the extraordinary amount of emotion coursing through her. "He used Dark Magic. I did what I could, but I can't prevent the scarring."</p><p>Malfoy studied her another moment, as if recognizing her quick change of subject and consciously deciding if he wanted to follow her down it. Then he lifted his chained hands, slowly tracing his fingers over the obvious, raised lines of the thick <strong>W</strong>. "It's bad, isn't it?" he asked dully.</p><p>She thought of Bill's scars after he'd been attacked by Greyback, how Harry's scar had marked him apart from the rest of the world for life... the horrifically extensive remnants of trauma that had covered what she had viewed of Malfoy's own arms and torso. "It isn't tiny, but… I've seen worse."</p><p>"Well." He shook his head, then gave her the faintest of limp smiles that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thanks to you, at least it doesn't hurt."</p><p>"At least there's that gone right, then," Hermione said wearily, looking at the watch. Her heart thudded once, harder, when she saw it was 10:52. "Right. We have to move."</p><p>Quickly, she added some final Glamoured dirt and bruising to his cheeks. Though it wasn't quite 11:00, Ronáld was likely having a conniption by now, and she would have to fully defuse his anger if she wanted to protect Malfoy from any initial ire. He was so volatile he might very well try to accuse her of stealing the blond wizard when she tried to return him.</p><p>When she was finished, she stepped back. "There. That should do it." She nodded once, more for herself than for him. "Are you ready for this?"</p><p>As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized they were idiotic and entirely unnecessary. Who on earth would be prepared to return to the hellish captivity from which he'd come?</p><p>But the Slytherin took a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes, swallowing visibly. After a moment, he said hoarsely, "If I said no, I suppose it wouldn't be of much help, would it?"</p><p>"It was a stupid thing to ask; I shouldn't have said it," Hermione replied savagely, angry at herself and the situation rather than at him.</p><p>With a wince, he slowly got to his feet. "At least you did me the courtesy of asking at all," he said so quietly she almost didn't hear him, and wondered if she was even meant to.</p><p>In what was becoming an all-too-frequent habit, hatred for the Weasleys exploded through her.</p><p>She hesitated, weighing the risks of sharing with him her largest discomfort about pulling off this entire caper - the one fear that had almost kept her from acting on his behalf at all, although now that she'd interacted with him a bit more, she felt slightly more secure that Malfoy wouldn't mention to anyone else how much she'd changed, unless coerced.</p><p>After a second, Hermione decided his experiences might give him more insight than she had. "I'm... more than a bit concerned of what might happen if Ronáld directly orders you to share the sordid details of your time with me, actually. So if you have any input..."</p><p>To her surprise, his brow furrowed only briefly at the question before he responded. "Just order me not to tell them anything you've told me. That should be enough."</p><p>She frowned. "Can't they override any order I give?"</p><p>Malfoy shook his head. "If I receive conflicting orders from different people who've got the lead, I can choose which one to obey. I... don't think it's a consequence of multiple ownership that they anticipated, nor are particularly pleased about," he added, his voice careful, "but it's… really the only freedom I have, I've found."</p><p>Hermione nodded, and bit her lip. "Right." Of course, she'd already ordered Pansy out of necessity, and a part of her had expected she might have to do it again, but... she still couldn't help her instinctive aversion to the thought of giving anyone a binding "Order."</p><p>He must have seen her hesitation, because he said quietly, "Granger, this isn't something you're forcing on me, it's the only thing that can keep us safe. Please... order me for both our sakes."</p><p>His tone actually reassured her. The irony of it was so astounding that Hermione almost laughed. In the cruelty she'd found at every turn in this world, impossibly, inexplicably, something about the man who was Draco Malfoy was an indescribable relief.</p><p>She took a breath, tilting her head back to look at him. Now that he was on his feet, rather than sitting or laying, Hermione was reminded of how tall Malfoy had actually been- there, and here.</p><p>Her words were chosen carefully and spoken slowly.</p><p>"Tell no one of anything that's transpired between us since I was given the lead - and never, under any circumstances, reveal our future interactions to anyone, either," Hermione added on afterthought - because, what if? "If you're asked about last night, say you don't know where I took you. I never let you see. All you know is that you felt pain, and I seemed pleased enough. And if anyone ever asks you about me in the future, deny seeing me recently." She paused. "Is that clear?"</p><p>Malfoy nodded once, his attention again so inescapably focused on her she wondered if, even if the room had been filled with a crowd of people, it would have been any different.</p><p>The need to get away suddenly clawed at her chest. She knew herself, knew that somehow, in this extremely short time, she had grown <em>comfortable</em> with him a way that almost resembled friendship. She couldn't afford to feel comfortable like that with anyone, not in this universe, and least of all not with Slytherin's favorite son. Indoctrinated bigot and elitist in one world, it was clear any connection with him in this one could simply make her a massive target... and make her feel even worse about herself than she already did for the abhorrent things she knew were happening here, but couldn't stop.</p><p>"I'll summon you once I'm in the common room," she said tautly, reaching for the door.</p><p>Unexpectedly, Malfoy reached out again, his hands brushing her arm for only a fraction of a second to catch her attention. "Granger, wait..."</p><p>Steeling herself, Hermione briefly closed her eyes before she looked over at him.</p><p>His expressive gray gaze held hers for only a moment before it lowered. "Look, I – I still don't understand any of this. I don't understand it at all. But… thank you." He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more, but instead just shook his head and repeated in a low voice, <em>"Thank</em> you."</p><p>Tears burned at her eyes. Clenching her jaw, Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice, and swiftly left before she would have to speak or look at him again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Little Talks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione had been right: Ronáld, the possessive and dangerous demon that he was, <em>had </em>been having a conniption when she hadn't returned Malfoy at the crack of dawn... or <em>his </em>crack of dawn, which was more around mid-morning. He'd nearly thrown a wobbly at Malfoy's healing via Pomfrey, but Hermione had simply simpered that when it came to evening entertainment, an unconscious, mostly-dead House-Wizard was a useless House-Wizard. <em>He</em> should be grateful to <em>her</em>, she'd said. After all, she'd fixed his toy for him.</p><p>She felt foul for simply speaking such words, but right now they were the best chance Malfoy had, and they'd worked, deflating a good portion of Ronáld's ire before he'd had to head to the Hunting and Trapping of Magical Creatures. Disgusting as the subject material was, Hermione was certain it would probably set him in an even better mood.</p><p>Even though she'd raced back to the Head common room to grab her book bag, she still skidded up to the door of the Potions classroom over twenty minutes late.</p><p>It took her another few minutes to calm down enough to close the gap between herself and the door.</p><p>Her mind was still running over the intensity of the twelve hours she'd spent with a very different Draco Malfoy: at how awful it had been - the extent of everything that the Sovereignty had allowed to be done to him, everything he'd been forced to survive, by himself - and, simultaneously, at how easy it had been: how, for the first time here, she'd been able to talk to someone and hadn't had to pretend to be somebody else, or put on a brave face.</p><p>How much she suddenly cared.</p><p>Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on extinguishing the feeling burning inside her, repeating a mantra she never dreamed she would be: She could <em>not</em> afford to feel. She could <em>not</em> afford to care. She had to find out what this place was, how she was trapped here, how to get out of it. And if she herself wanted to survive, she <em>couldn't</em> afford to think about helping Malfoy more than she was able. Doing so could very well kill her.</p><p>And thinking about how she wasn't going to think about doing everything she could to aid a good and decent person who would no doubt continue to suffer long after she left...</p><p>Guilt tore at her chest. With concerning adroitness, she managed to snuff it out almost immediately.</p><p>No. She couldn't afford to think about Draco Malfoy at all.</p><p>Rapidly blinking back an undesired burning at her eyes, Hermione swallowed hard and focused on the Potions doorway with forced discipline. As she reached for the door, though, foreboding clenched her. Inside was <em>Severus Snape</em>, and if he'd been slimy and traitorous in her world, she could only imagine what he'd be like here, especially since he was still on the "bad" side as well. Like Filch, he likely danced so closely to the thin line between decent and despicable that his character probably hadn't shifted too drastically between alternate dimensions.</p><p>She steeled herself, griping the handle -</p><p>Unexpectedly, it turned abruptly, swinging open to reveal Snape in all his hawkish, black-clad glory. He glared down at her, looking as imposing as ever. "Well, well, well. Hermione Evans."</p><p>Her mouth dropped.</p><p>
  <em>Oh bugger.</em>
</p><p>How had Snape known her real first name?</p><p>Snape examined her as if analyzing some curious, newly-discovered specimen of Ert's root, while Hermione held her breath, fidgeting under his gaze while trying to look irreverent. One thing was certain: if the Severus Snape of this world possessed some sixth sense, she was <em>buggered.</em></p><p>"You do realize that students tend to learn better if they are seated <em>inside</em> the classroom," he drawled finally.</p><p>"Sorry, Professor, I-" She forced a carefree giggle, grasping for her prepared excuse, "I couldn't remember if this was the correct room."</p><p>Snape raised his eyebrows at her and stepped back into the hallway, looking above the door with exaggeratedly pointed motions. The words <em>Potions Laborator</em>y were clearly etched into the stone above it.</p><p>Hermione giggled nervously, and this time it wasn't forced. She'd thought My would be stupid enough to make that mistake, but perhaps she wasn't. "Oh. Right."</p><p>Snape rolled his eyes - actually <em>rolled </em>them<em>-</em> and heaved a sigh. "Oh, do come <em>in,</em> Evans; you've wasted enough of our time as it is." She let out small sigh of relief and followed him into the familiar classroom. He gestured flippantly to his right. "Take a seat next to Brown. I'm sure between the two of you, the eastern half of the room will be treated to a year of stunningly obtuse conversation."</p><p>His last sentence was so blatantly insulting that Hermione stared after him in astonishment. Lavender didn't seem to have noticed, and squealed as she approached. Hermione gave her a haughty smile back and lowered herself on the bench beside another person who didn't appear much changed.</p><p>As the class went on, though, she began to realize that this Snape <em>had</em>.</p><p>Time and time again, she had to school her features to stop herself from reacting to his strange Universe B counterpart, one that actually looked put together, his black clothing unbuttoned at the neck and more stylishly smart than stuffy. His normally greasy hair was short and clean, and his face held the ghost of a well-trimmed five o'clock shadow Universe A's Snape <em>never</em> had.</p><p>Vastly different from Snape's calculating drawl, this man was unnaturally garrulous, and he spent his time roving around the classroom, firing off comments a mile a minute, his words often dripping with biting sarcasm that many in the Remedial class obviously didn't catch, though Hermione certainly did. By the end of the period, she reluctantly admitted that, some of the time, he was remarkably<em> droll.</em></p><p>His alert gaze, however, was far too observant for her liking.</p><p>Even though the potion he'd assigned them was so elementary she remembered learning it during her second year, Hermione kept her head down and focused on maintaining an appearance of utmost confusion. This was Remedial Potions, after all; she was clearly here for a reason.</p><p><em>So much for acquiring new and potentially useful information, </em>she thought sarcastically.</p><p>Unfortunately, her lesson in learning new things came in an all too unwanted form two mornings later.</p><hr/><p>Hermione had spent her days gamely failing her Remedial classes and dodging Ronáld's, Harry's, and Ginevra's foul moods: Ronáld's sulking about her 'hard to get' act, which was lasting a lot longer than he'd expected it to; Harry's dark muttering about "ruddy pranksters" while wearing angrier-than-usual glares, his emerald eyes scanning the Marauders' Map when he didn't think others were watching; and Ginevra's stunted - and, to Hermione, overtly sexual - efforts to help Harry 'feel better,' which only seemed to send Harry into a fouler mood.</p><p>Luckily, this meant all three were too distracted to especially miss her, and Hermione didn't hesitate to spend every waking moment she wasn't in class in the one place she could always count on: the library. Each night had been a late one, but Hermione refused to give in until she found something, <em>some </em>kind of hint as to how she could get home or what had happened to her.</p><p>Nothing surfaced - or at least, nothing that seemed to match her particular experience.</p><p>The majority of Dark Arts curses that altered mental states through trapping the victim in their own mind seemed to consistently create varied artificial - but seemingly real - states of constant torture for the victim. While yes, being forced to live in a cocked up world built upon principles Hermione firmly rejected may have <em>seemed</em> like torture, it wasn't really, not compared to the real physical and mental torture Malfoy and others like him were experiencing on a daily basis. No, Hermione probably had a better social position than 99.5% of the population, so she'd had to rule out that possibility.</p><p>Much of the information on interdimensional travel was strictly theory involving advanced Arithmancy equations that postulated exactly how some universes could exist parallel to, or even in alignment with, each other. The mathematical frequency and location of wormholes were described in detail, though no one had seemed to have a direct experience using them. The handful of direct interstellar travel accounts (which she found in the Legends, Superstitions, and Magical Fiction section) suspiciously but consistently involved variant combinations of illegal time turners and Firewhiskey.</p><p>Another strikethrough on her list of possibilities.</p><p>Equally little information existed on House-Wizard bonds, and the more she dug, the more obvious it became that the Sovereignty seemed quite intent on keeping mum about the entire process behind it. What she did find seemed to imply that the slave-level bond was permanent, or at least something that could not be easily undone once it had been cast.</p><p>She'd tried to elicit some clues of the spell's mechanisms from Pansy, but the other girl had no recollection of it. She described being kept in a cell in the Phoenix beforehand - apparently Universe B's name of the physical location of the Ministry of Magic's Sovereign equivalent - and waking up in a cell in Azkaban after, and the only way she'd known something had changed was because she felt as though a part of her soul had been ripped from her: her ability to practice magic, with or without a wand.</p><p>After that, she'd been sold, and only then had she realized the full - and awful - extent of the bond.</p><p>Pansy was clearly trying to be supportive, but Hermione wasn't prepared to give up the secret of who she really was, not to anyone, not even Pansy, and she kept their conversations superficial, limited to the state of the world and how My Granger would normally act in given situations. At the end of them, Hermione always felt drained, especially because Pansy seemed to be drawing hope from Hermione's confident knowledge, even if Hermione didn't feel it herself.</p><p>And she... she missed <em>them. </em>Harry, Ron, Ginny, the Weasleys, her parents…</p><p>It would have been better if she'd been ripped to some alternative universe with complete strangers instead of one where she saw her loved ones' likenesses <em>over</em> and <em>over</em> again, and felt as though her heart was being ripped from her chest every time they spoke words of coldness and cruelty.</p><p>She had never felt so alone.</p><p>On Thursday, Hermione dragged herself into the Defense Against the Dark Arts - now, just the Dark Arts - classroom reluctantly, exhausted and frustrated.</p><p>She had already spent nearly two weeks in this world, which was more than she'd ever hoped she would have to, and it was looking more and more like she would be stuck for the long term.</p><p>During her first Remedial Dark Arts class - clearly, neither Harry, Ronáld, or Ginevra were behind on that subject because she shared the class with none of them - Lupin, which she had taken to referring to Remus' enthusiastically Dark Arts-focused counterpart because she couldn't bear to think of him as "Remus," had led an active discussion of what Universe B called "The Trifecta."</p><p>In Hermione's world, the Trifecta were called the Unforgivable Curses.</p><p>Today, she discovered they would actually be practicing them. She had known it was coming, but she hadn't expected it would happen so soon.</p><p>She felt herself begin to panic as a House-Elf cracked! into existence beside Lupin. "Five should do it, I think," she heard Lupin tell it.</p><p>The House-Elf snapped its fingers, and five House-Witches and Wizards appeared from thin air, looking startled and then terrified.</p><p>While the other members of the class tittered excitedly, horror rushed through Hermione as she realized what was about to happen, and it only doubled when she found she actually recognized some of them: Hestia Carrow, a Slytherin a year below her, a woman she vaguely recognized as Daphne Greengrass's mother...</p><p>Lupin took what must have been a lead from the House-Elf and then walked in front of the huddled group. When Hestia choked back a sob, he lowered his wand at her, shaking it slightly. "Now, now, be good little Fusties. Don't speak or move unless you're told."</p><p>He flicked his wand, and the five were flung to separate corners of the room, each of them landing hard on the floor. Lupin turned back toward the class and clapped his hands, smiling a pleasant smile that reminded her so much of the real Remus Lupin... but the compassion in his eyes was missing.</p><p>"Now. Who's ready to practice the Imperius Curse?"</p><p>Hermione certainly wasn't. When the students separated into five groups, she hung around the back to try to avoid it entirely, but Lupin must have caught on to her plan, because after the rest of the students had practiced - with mixed results - and Hermione made no effort to try it herself, he appeared at her side pulled her up to the front of the group.</p><p>As she accidentally met Hestia's terrified eyes, Hermione felt the breakfast she had unwisely eaten that morning threaten to projectile upward. "Oh, Professor, really, do I have to?" she whined. "It's so hard... I don't want to look silly in front of everyone!" she hissed snidely in a stage whisper.</p><p>Lupin shook his head and patted her shoulder with an almost fatherly understanding. "Don't be nervous, Lady Evans; I realize you've never particularly taken to the complexity of the Trifecta, but the Underlying principle of the Imperius Curse is one to which I imagine you can relate. Now, raise your wand. Come on."</p><p>
  <em>Oh Merlin. Oh Merlin oh Merlin oh Merlin...</em>
</p><p>There was no way out. She couldn't pretend she needed to use the loo, couldn't faint convincingly enough for Lupin not to see right through it, and the only thing she could do was raise her wand, gripping it tightly. She couldn't bring herself to look at Hestia's face again, and she pointed it somewhere in the girl's direction.</p><p>"We've discussed the mechanical process of the Imperius Curse for the last two years, so I don't think I need to go over it again," Lupin was saying. "All you need to do is understand the mindset of the Curse, and I've no doubt you'll nail it. The Imperius Curse is about <em>power,</em> Lady Evans, feeling power over someone else, the power to make them do... whatever you want, really. Now, take a good look at this poor creature in front of you. Go on."</p><p>
  <em>No no no no...</em>
</p><p>Hermione didn't want to, but she knew My wouldn't have hesitated, so she tilted her head impudently and returned her gaze to Hestia's trembling chin, sighing loudly. <em>"And?"</em></p><p>Lupin stepped alongside her, looking at the Slytherin with an air of... could it have been pity? "Then think: What is she? A lowlife Old-Blood, a Sovereign traitor, a Fusty. She has no magic, no value, no use but to do what we tell her. Now think about who you are, Lady Evans. A Muggle-born, a Head Girl, an Elite. The world is at your fingertips. You already have plenty of power over her. Now you simply need to <em>show</em> her."</p><p>Unbidden, Hermione suddenly heard Draco Malfoy's voice, echoing from her limited interactions with him that she'd tried to put from her mind: <em>'I haven't been treated like a human being in years...'</em></p><p>It was the instructions of this very man beside her<em>,</em> among so many Universe B adults who all <em>should have known better</em>, Hermione thought bitterly, that had contributed toward empowering even the youngest students here to harm any others they perceived as lesser than them, often in devastating ways.</p><p>She, meanwhile, had never been subject to such indoctrination, and her fiercely egalitarian beliefs were apparently impossible to shield from the magic underlying the Curse: When she forced out the word, <em>"Imperio,"</em> Hestia shuddered briefly, as if she was experiencing a seizure, but collapsed back to the ground after a few seconds. Nothing else happened, except a vile taste that exploded through Hermione's mouth at <em>herself.</em></p><p>Lupin sighed. "Ah, well." He patted her on the shoulder again. "Practice will make perfect, I believe."</p><p>Shortly thereafter, Lupin decided to progress to the Cruciatus Curse, and Hermione panicked again. If she couldn't even complete the Imperius Curse, she absolutely refused to lift her wand for the Cruciatus. Before she could decide upon a suitable course of action, Lupin had placed a demonstrative Curse on Daphne's mother, eliciting the most horrific of screams.</p><p>At the sound, memories she never wanted to revisit surged through her.</p><p>In an instant, she was back on the floor in Malfoy Manor, reliving the most unimaginable pain she had ever experienced as Bellatrix Lestrange stood above her and cackled; Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to wrestle the nightmare of that day back into the recesses of her mind, but she couldn't block out the pleading, the screaming, Bellatrix's screechy howl of<em> "TELL THE TRUTH, MUDBLOOD, TELL THE TRUTH!"...</em></p><p>She couldn't breathe. Damn it, damn it, she couldn't breathe, and this was <em>not</em> the time for this to be happening...</p><p>In theory, Hermione knew that the few moments of true panic she had experienced since being tortured in Malfoy Manor were few and far between and always subsided relatively expeditiously if she simply waited them out, confident in the knowledge that what she was experiencing was not a direct threat but was simply a remnant physiological response that would subside shortly as long as she focused on something else.</p><p>In practice, it was an awful bloody predicament to try to focus on something else as the screams of pain and occasional snickers in the Dark Arts classroom only got worse.</p><p>Hermione wracked her brain frantically and then subtly flicked her wand toward her bag, glancing around surreptitiously to see the rest of the students were <em>simply watching</em> the poor woman writhe in interest, while Hestia, ordered motionless nearby, had begun to silently cry.</p><p>At last, a small, paper-wrapped sweet smacked into her hand. She nearly collapsed in relief; immediately, she ripped the wrapping off the paper, tore the bi-colored sweet in two, and popped the red side into her mouth. As soon as she choked it down, something wet and sticky began to gush from her nose. She lifted her fingers to her face, and the hand she pulled away was covered in blood.</p><p><em>"Professor Lupin!"</em> she bleated.</p><p>Lupin pulled the Curse off the woman, and her cries of pain transitioned sharply to broken whimpers. Hermione felt her lungs began to work again as the mild-mannered professor's gaze found her through the throng of students. His eyebrows flew up, likely at the blood covering her face. "Oh goodness. What's happened?"</p><p>Lavender took one look at Hermione and gasped dramatically, covering her mouth in alarm. "Oh, My!"</p><p>Several more of her classmates quickly swiveled around and reacted with shock, which was leagues more of a response than any of them had shown toward an innocent woman being <em>tortured</em> right in front of them.</p><p>Hermione fought back tears, holding her nose, and they weren't feigned. "I can't - I can't make it stop!" she whimpered.</p><p>"Well, go on to the Hospital Wing, of course," Lupin said so reasonably it was mind-bending to think he'd been using an Unforgivable Curse on another human being without blinking moments before. "Do you need assistance? I'm sure another student would be willing to accompany you."</p><p>"Oh, I can!" exclaimed Meili Liu, a Hufflepuff 7th year, her hand shooting eagerly into the air, and wasn't that <em>just</em> what Hermione wanted while her mind was threatening mutiny: a sycophant following her around.</p><p>"Oh, no, no. No need for that, I'm sure," she said hastily, trying to look somewhat steady as she stood and scooped up her bag. "I'll be-" teary hiccup, "-fine."</p><p>Thankfully, that seemed to suffice for Lupin. "Very well. See to it that Brown catches you up once the problem has been, er - contained."</p><p>As soon as she was safely out of range of the classroom, Hermione unclenched her other hand and forced herself to finish the sickly sweet white half of the Nosebleed Nougat Skiving Snackbox.</p><p>Instantly, she felt the painless liquid pouring from her nose stop flowing. She distractedly scrubbed at her puffed eyes and then her mouth and chin, distantly hoping she didn't run into any students, as she practically raced through the Hogwarts hallways.</p><p>Her head reeled, forehead and temples pounding with the itchings of a migraine from sheer stress alone.</p><p>She had just, for the first time in her life, used an <em>Unforgivable</em> Curse. On a fellow, innocent human being. No matter how terrible she'd been at it, she felt sick, <em>horrible,</em> disgusted with herself for simply going along with it and not speaking out, standing up against the abhorrent way that Lupin, that <em>all</em> the students had treated the five victims - as if they were expendable, worthless. Subhuman.</p><p>How many others here had been persecuted in the same way, like these witches and wizards and Malfoy had been, in the name of progress, of power, of education and innovation?</p><p>Hermione wanted to cry but forced herself to keep a straight face in case she encountered anyone. Thank all the ghosts, it was in the middle of a popular class period, so the hallways were empty. Even so, Hermione restlessly roamed the halls like a people without a land in a land that had once been a second home to her. She couldn't go back to her common room - surely Pansy would notice something was amiss and ask about it, and Merlin knew Hermione couldn't bear to watch the gentle witch's reaction to what was being done to people Pansy probably knew.</p><p>Sweet Morgana, Hermione had never wanted - <em>needed</em> - Harry Potter so desperately since she had arrived in Universe B as she did then. Her best friend would understand; he would know the right things to say and to do, or at the very least sit there with her as support until she came to terms with what she'd just witnessed.</p><p>But Harry Potter didn't exist here.</p><p>She was by herself in this horrific, barbaric world.</p><p>Even after Ron had abandoned her and Harry during the Horcrux search, Hermione had never felt as acutely alone as she did now.</p><p>Eventually, her feet stopped moving, but she wasn't at the Hospital Wing.</p><p>Instead, she stood before the Fat Lady's portrait.</p><p>Hermione hesitated only briefly before she straightened her shoulders determinedly and quickly checked the Marauders' Map. It showed the Gryffindor Common Room was just as empty as the halls had been... save for two dots: Malfoy's, which she expected, and a dot nearby it labeled "<em>Cassiopeia Longbottom.</em>"</p><p>Her heartbeat automatically sped up with the knowledge of what typically happened when <em>anyone</em> from this Universe was near Malfoy. Just as quickly, her eyebrows lifted in surprise at what she was seeing.</p><p><em>This</em> was unexpected.</p><p>In Universe A, Neville had been an only child. She hadn't encountered many entirely 'new' people here yet, but she supposed that, if Neville's parents hadn't been tortured in the war, of course they would have been able to have more children.</p><p>Torn between wary curiosity and a sudden surge of protectiveness over Malfoy's current wellbeing that seemed a dangerous sentiment to harbor here for someone she barely knew (and therefore, she didn't like it one bit), Hermione pulled her Invisibility Cloak from her bag and threw it over herself, whispered the password to the Fat Lady, and murmured a silencing charm on the usual creak in the floor just inside the portrait hole entrance.</p><p>Silent as a spectre, she cautiously stepped inside the common room.</p><p>Immediately, she noticed a flurry of activity to her left, in the shadows of the far corner of the room. She just managed to catch sight of the back of a young, dark-haired girl who quickly darted behind an ornate mahogany curtain alongside windows overlooking the grounds. Cassiopeia Longbottom, then. Despite Hermione's efforts, she must have heard the quiet <em>whoosh</em> of the portrait hole opening.</p><p>Hermione frowned, but regardless found herself relaxing slightly. From the short glance she'd gotten of the girl, she couldn't have been older than a first or second year, and so in <em>theory</em> should be harmless enough... but nothing in this place, not even the Remedial Dark Arts, was turning out to be easy, or harmless. Whatever Cassiopeia was doing - skivving off from classes, perhaps? - her presence would complicate whatever Hermione had intended when she had subconsciously decided to visit the Gryffindor Common Room in her hour of need.</p><p>After a moment, she decided to at least determine where Malfoy was being kept. She thought it odd that when classes were in session he was still in the common room, rather than, for instance, a private room for the Weasleys' use (sick as that idea even was). From there, she would sort out how to proceed with Neville's little sister lurking about, or whether to proceed with anything at all. She couldn't deny she... she wouldn't mind talking with Malfoy again right now.</p><p>Indeed, the Draco Malfoy she had met two days ago would be a welcome relief from almost everything else about this nightmarish day.</p><p>Hermione glanced down to ensure the silky material of the Invisibility Cloak still covered her fully; satisfied that it did, she shifted her attention from the curtains behind which the girl had disappeared to the rest of the common room. Avoiding that corner of the room, she trailed around the edge of the ornately decorated space - in Universe A lined with bookcases and study tables, in Universe B filled with Muggle-esque technology like the big-screened television and stereos - murmuring enchantment-revealing charms every few feet in case Malfoy's enclosure might have been Disillusioned.</p><p>When her search turned up little, her brow furrowed. The Marauders' Map had shown he was here…</p><p>Suddenly, she heard soft voices coming from the same side of the room Neville's sister had been hiding, across from the fireplace.</p><p>Swiftly, Hermione turned her head to see that the dark-haired child had moved away from her curtain hideout to an adjacent stretch of the wall that was partially hidden behind a cluster of the common room's plush armchairs. Quietly, she tiptoed closer, peering over the back of one of the chairs.</p><p>A square slab of the wall no higher than her knees nor wider than her shoulders had been cut away at floor height. In its place were <em>bars.</em></p><p><em>Malfoy,</em> Hermione realized, though from the angle at which she was standing, she couldn't see inside.</p><p>Immediately, her nostrils flared in rage and nausea at the size and utter- utter <em>barbarity</em> of the tiny prison. Bloody Morgana, how on earth had Malfoy not managed to lose his mind if he'd been penned inside <em>that</em> for all of last year? It took her a few seconds of breathing steadily through her nose to calm her emotions enough to process, beyond Malfoy's inhumanly small confinement, the peculiarity of what she was seeing:</p><p>Cassiopeia Longbottom was pushing what looked like a tea sandwich through the bars. She was dressed in Gryffindor robes, with wavy, almost wild black hair and a square, unconventionally pretty face that reminded Hermione so <em>strongly</em> of someone, she just couldn't put her finger on who, though she couldn't quite say it was Neville Longbottom.</p><p>Why would a Longbottom be helping a Malfoy?</p><p>Hermione couldn't distinguish what either of them were saying, but the exchange seemed friendly enough for her to decide to make the first move. Whatever followed could at least provide some insight into the direction of her own excuse for being there.</p><p>Still standing to one side of the chairs, she took off her cloak, slinging the visible side of it over one arm. The girl didn't notice - Hermione made a note to teach her the Muffliato Charm, if she was a friend - before she silently performed the charm around them herself and pointedly cleared her throat.</p><p>Immediately, the child gasped and jumped like a startled rabbit, scrambling backward. Her wide, dark eyes stared up at Hermione with what could only be described as terror. "Please! I'm sorry! I know I shouldn't be here; I'm sorry!"</p><p>Her reaction sent a chill down Hermione's back; she swiftly crouched down, holding out a hand reassuringly. "No, no. It's alright, I promise you, it's alright. Please calm down," she implored hastily, trying to sound soothing and not panicked herself.</p><p>Her reassurances fell on deaf ears. "Please, please don't make me forget!" the Longbottom child pleaded, lacing Hermione with an expression of pure dread that mirrored that of Hestia's, and Malfoy's, and Pansy's.</p><p>She felt ill. Hermione had never wanted anyone to look at her like this again, and two times in less than one hour was more than she'd counted on. "I'm not -" her brow furrowed in puzzlement as she repeated the words - "I'm not going to make you forget anything. I'm not going to do anything. It's alright, sweetheart, really it is."</p><p>"Peia."</p><p>Now that she was closer, Hermione could see Malfoy's partially-obstructed face when he shoved himself against the cage bars, a faint clink of chains accompanying the movement. The girl - Peia? - looked back at him immediately, her wide eyes filled with tears.</p><p>"Draco, I don't want them to hurt you," she cried, her frightened gaze darting back to Hermione.</p><p>"No, love, she won't," he said quickly, and Hermione again had to shake herself at hearing <em>that</em> tone of voice exit Draco Malfoy's lips. For a moment, Malfoy's gaze shifted up toward Hermione before he focused back on the little girl. "Peia. Peia, please, look at me, won't you? Can I have your hand?"</p><p>Peia finally tore her gaze from Hermione, sniffing. After a moment, she inched back toward him, reaching a small, shaking hand through the bars, where he took it in both his chained ones. "There you are, love; it's alright now. It's alright. You're safe."</p><p>Unlike Hermione's efforts, his words were soothing even <em>her.</em> She had never been particularly good with children - as an only child, she'd just never had the experience of what to say to them, and how to say it - but Draco Malfoy seemed to be doing an especially good job with this one. As he continued to speak quietly to her, she could literally see the fear sliding off Peia's face.</p><p>How was this girl connected to Malfoy - on extremely familiar terms, even?</p><p>Then Malfoy said in a shockingly lighthearted voice, "That lovely lass there? I'll be just fine if you leave me with her. Now, are you feeling better? Can you run off to class?"</p><p>Peia must not have looked convinced, because he added quietly, "I really will be alright, love."</p><p>"Promise?" she asked unsteadily.</p><p>In the shadows of the cage, Hermione couldn't quite make out Malfoy's reaction, but a pregnant pause met Peia's words before he said faintly, "Cross my heart." At her crestfallen expression, he nudged her hand. "C'mon, Pei. Give an old bloke a smile before you go, won't you?" A smile had reappeared in his voice, despite the fact he was imprisoned in a wall-carved cell that appeared to be only slightly larger than a coffin.</p><p>Peia giggled softly and did, somewhat shyly. Moving closer, Hermione could see that Malfoy remarkably was still smiling himself, as though he hadn't a care in the world. She hadn't the slightest idea of how he was managing it.</p><p>"Go on, now, Peia," he said. "Be safe."</p><p>"You too," she said sternly, pulling her hand from between the bars and standing. After a moment, she looked over at Hermione, still crouched at her level. Her slightly untamed features held a mixture of apprehension and resolve. "You won't - You won't hurt him, will you?"</p><p>Hermione felt something inexpressible twist inside her chest. "No, Peia. I won't hurt him."</p><p>Peia scanned her face, her dark eyes searching Hermione's with surprisingly forceful depth. "D'you promise?"</p><p>"On my heart and everything holy," she replied solemnly.</p><p>After a moment, Peia nodded and stepped away, picking up her bag at the foot of one of the chairs and exiting the portrait hole. Hermione let out a breath, wondering what in the names of Merlin and Morgana had just transpired between Neville Longbottom's little sister and Draco Malfoy, before she figured the best source of clarification would be Malfoy himself.</p><p>Oddly, his own attention was already intently drawn to something directly beneath her face.</p><p>Frowning, she tipped down her chin - and saw that dried blood covered her chest and the entire front of her white uniform blouse. She'd been so distraught after leaving the Dark Arts classroom, she hadn't even noticed.</p><p>Merlin. No <em>wonder</em> Peia had been terrified of her.</p><p>"Oh. That's not mine," she said quickly. "I mean, it is, but -"</p><p>How in Godric's name could she explain <em>that</em> story quickly?</p><p>She opted instead to lift her wand and cast a cleaning spell on her blouse, and, on second thought, the skin of her neck. "There. Good as new." Like Malfoy had with Peia, she forced a cheerfulness she didn't feel into the words.</p><p>But the good nature he'd shown Peia had vanished from his face. His unreadable gaze searched hers, as if he didn't believe her. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, evading his stare. The events that had led to those bloodstains had been the very reason she'd come to him, but now, the last thing she wanted to do was complain to him about something so seemingly petty when he was trapped in a tiny hole in the wall at the mercy of a violent family.</p><p>"Erm… Can I get you anything?" she asked awkwardly, changing the subject.</p><p>A ghost of a weak smile that lacked the energy of his for Peia crossed his features. "A pillow'd be a bloody relief. Joking," he added quickly when Hermione's gaze swung back to the common room, scanning for an adequate target. Scrunched up with his knees pulled to his chest in a space that appeared it would hardly hold his full height in its length, he gingerly leaned against the wall, his cheek still pressed against the bars between him and the Common Room. "What brings you to my castle, Granger?" he mumbled, not quite meeting her eyes.</p><p>Before she answered, Hermione cast a few more security charms around them, then settled herself on the floor, tossing her Invisibility Cloak around the edge of her shoulders and setting the hood at the very back of the crown of her head so she could easily pull it about her quickly if someone entered the Common Room. When her gaze landed on the latch to his cage, her eyes narrowed, studying the lock, but Malfoy shook his head.</p><p>"Still aural. Unless you suddenly turn into a Weasley, which I pray to Merlin and all the gods you don't, I'm not going anywhere."</p><p>Hermione's attention shifted to him in surprise; he was studying his knees rather than her. Only Harry - <em>her </em>Harry - had the ability to consistently guess exactly what she was thinking, but he'd known her for seven years, not three days, and this wasn't the first time this version of Malfoy had voiced a thought for her, either. "How'd you -?"</p><p>His chapped lips stretched into another taut, dull smile that didn't reach his eyes, gaze still fixed on the frigid-looking stone floor beneath him - a stark contrast to the plush common room carpet upon which Hermione sat. "Doing nothing all day... you learn to notice things."</p><p>Hermione wasn't entirely sure she believed that. After a moment of silence, she gestured toward the bars. "Do you have any idea if the security spells on this extend beyond the lock? I could cast a few charms on the floor inside there to make it a bit more comfortable, but not if it could cause problems."</p><p>Incredulousness crossed his features, and he finally looked over at her. "I- I don't. I... wouldn't risk it, though." A shadow abruptly deadened his expression. "There are worse things than a hard floor." He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, then added haltingly, "But... thank you. For that offer, and for not... For letting her go."</p><p>Hermione quickly realized who he meant. "Malfoy, of course," she said in surprise. "I would never hurt her. Or any child, for that matter."</p><p>"Then you may very well be the only one." He shakily raked both chained hands across his face and let out a long breath, his next words muffled by his palms. "Merlin, that scenario has been one of my worst nightmares since she started at Hogwarts. If it had been anyone else standing there instead..."</p><p>Hermione was honestly shocked with how open he was being with her, never mind not fixating on the fact that she wasn't acting like My at all. She tilted her head, curious. "Who is she?"</p><p>Malfoy lowered his hands and glanced over at her. He seemed surprised by her question. "My cousin."</p><p>That was the very <em>last</em> explanation Hermione had expected. Quickly, she reviewed what she knew of his family tree. She didn't think Andromeda had had any children beside Tonks, and Tonks was definitely too young to have a child that age, so that only left…</p><p><em>"Bellatrix?"</em> she asked in disbelief, though with Peia's wild black hair and dark eyes, it made perfect sense. Swiftly, her mind jumped to her perusal of A Brief History of the Modern Wizarding World; as far as she knew, Bellatrix Black had most certainly not married a Longbottom, so how…?</p><p>She stopped thinking when she noticed Malfoy's eyes narrow slightly - the first time in awhile he'd shown suspicion of her - and mentally berated herself for potentially making the situation more confusing than it was already was. It seemed it was far easier if everyone thought she didn't know anything about this world at all, rather than random facts about various people and things.</p><p>"What do you know of my aunt?" he asked cautiously.</p><p>Hermione shrugged. "Just that she <em>is</em> your aunt," she said honestly - her extensive knowledge of the crazed Bellatrix of her world would have no bearing here.</p><p>For a moment, the Slytherin didn't speak; he appeared to be weighing his response. "Yes. She's Bella's child," he finally said quietly.</p><p>Hermione frowned. If she recalled correctly, Bellatrix had been one of the Conservative leaders during the Second Intervention. So how had her child become a Longbottom who was still trying to help Draco, unless…?</p><p>"They took her own daughter <em>away</em> from her?" she asked in horror.</p><p>Something tightened in his expression. "Not exactly, but you aren't far off. They were separated during the… war. As I understand from Peia, the Sovereignty began a 'reform program' for the younger Conservative children it had taken instead of turning them into - House-Wizards." His voice hitched on the word. "Felt they were still impressionable, that they could still be swayed to their side. So they were given to Sovereign families to raise. The Longbottoms took in Peia."</p><p>Hermione was too emotionally exhausted to conceal her emotions when for a moment it seemed she didn't have to, and she was well aware her dismay must have been sprawled across her face. "How'd they go about 'swaying them' to their side?"</p><p>Malfoy shrugged limply. "Showering them with gifts. Lying that their real families had left them behind. Brainwashing. Your guess is as good as mine. I'll be eternally grateful they didn't place them in - conditions like mine, but -" He took a breath, shaking his head. "Peia hates it. She's a fighter. She keeps trying to visit me, even though I keep telling her not to, and I'm just -"</p><p>He stopped speaking abruptly, blinking rapidly.</p><p>"Just what?" she asked quietly.</p><p>Slowly, his chained hands moved to one of the bars, gripping it. His eyes briefly closed. "I'm just… so afraid they'll find her out one day and Obliviate her. Or worse," he whispered, his voice weary.</p><p>"That's what she meant," Hermione realized. "When she asked me not to make her forget."</p><p>He nodded, looking over at her. "I think she already gives them more trouble than most of them would tolerate. I have no idea what they'd do to her if they found out about this."</p><p>She felt another promise creeping into her throat, but she couldn't bring herself to stop from voicing it. "I'll try to keep an eye on her."</p><p>His gaze shot to hers. "No. I couldn't ask that of you, Granger."</p><p>"That's why I offered."</p><p>"I think you have enough problems to worry about as it is."</p><p>Hermione certainly didn't need a reminder of that, but she was curious as to what he thought they were. "Such as?"</p><p>"Such as if someone catches <em>you</em> here."</p><p>His tone held warning and something she couldn't quite name in equal measure, and for some reason it caused her temper to flare. "D'you think I'm not aware?" she snapped.</p><p>Malfoy looked down, his knuckles tightening around the bars. After a moment, he glanced back over at her, his expression more shuttered than it had been a moment before. "Why <em>are</em> you here, then?"</p><p>Hermione opened her mouth, but shut it when she thought better of what she'd been about to say. She sure as shite wasn't going to tell him that after dealing with a horrific experience, the only person in the entire world she'd wanted, <em>needed</em> to see had been her best friend, but since the awkwardly sweet, caring Harry Potter of Universe A didn't exist here... the only other person she could think of to go to was <em>him. </em></p><p>"You... remind me of someone," she said finally, and she didn't mean his appearance.</p><p>
  <em>Of everyone I miss.</em>
</p><p>If her statement was at all strange to him - and by all rights, it should have been - he didn't show it. He scrutinized her. "Good bloke?" he asked after a moment.</p><p>Hermione's eyes began to burn, and she forced a wavering smile to cover the misery that suddenly welled within her. "The best."</p><p>Malfoy continued to study her silently. She was well aware of it and did her bloody best not to look at him. She didn't blame him for being suspicious, and wondered what she would have made of it had she been in his position. If Universe A's Draco Malfoy suddenly became a flower-holding hippie and proclaimed his desire to be her best friend, she'd probably hex him into tomorrow, or, at best, keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and his true pernicious plot to reveal itself. She couldn't say some part of her wasn't still half-expecting that from him here.</p><p><em>Yes,</em> she again marveled, he was handling her unexplained transformation very well, all things considered, and she found herself wondering <em>why.</em></p><p>"Why did you have blood on your blouse?" he asked finally, interrupting her thoughts.</p><p>The reminder of that morning's twisted events was the cherry on top of her personal pity party. "The bloody Dark Arts," she couldn't help but mutter darkly.</p><p>When he stiffened, something akin to fear flashing through his eyes, she held out a hand, hoping he didn't think that meant she'd been willingly <em>doing </em>the Dark Arts. "No, I mean - I was <em>in </em>the Dark Arts. The class. We were supposed to-"</p><p>She stopped speaking abruptly, remembering why she hadn't wanted to bring this up to him in the first place. Malfoy probably <em>knew </em>the House-Witches and Wizards that had been in that classroom. How would he feel holding the knowledge that such horrible things were happening to his own friends, and he was absolutely powerless to stop it? If she were in his position, would <em>she </em>want to know?</p><p>"You were supposed to what?" he whispered, dread palpable in his tone.</p><p>She couldn't tell him. She couldn't.</p><p>"Granger." A steely edge unexpectedly entered Malfoy's voice. "I can handle it."</p><p>Hermione forced herself to look at him. Though his body was gaunt and his features dirtied, he evenly returned her gaze with an unflinching resoluteness that emanated from the depths of his tired gaze.</p><p>It didn't matter what she would do were she in his position, she realized. <em>He </em>wanted to know.</p><p>She took a breath. "We were supposed to practice the Unforgiv- the Trifecta." As she relived the class in her mind, she felt her anger rising. "On House-Witches and Wizards. On bloody <em>people,"</em> she spat.</p><p>He didn't even blink, but his expression darkened. "And then?"</p><p>Hermione shook her head. "Then nothing. I couldn't do it. And I certainly couldn't sit there listening to their screams knowing I couldn't do a bloody thing to help them, either." She scrubbed at her face, cradling her forehead in her palms. "Some... friends of mine invented extraordinarily useful sweets that can make your nose bleed, so I took one and got out of the class before we started on the Cruciatus. That's how I got blood on my shirt."</p><p>For a long time, he was silent. In a rush, she regretted telling him; he had enough to deal with as it was without having to worry about what was happening to the people he cared about.</p><p>She sighed, lifting her head from her hands. "Look, Malfoy, I shouldn't have -"</p><p>"Don't," he said suddenly, his voice quiet.</p><p>Her brow furrowed. "Don't what?"</p><p>He looked up at her, his features unreadable. "Don't call me Malfoy. <em>They</em> call me Malfoy. And I just... I'd much rather you called me Draco."</p><p>Hermione's lips parted in surprise. Of all the things he could have possibly said to her then...</p><p>"Alright," she said slowly. When he raised his eyebrows expectantly, she added, "Drrrraco," rolling the word off her lips as if it were foreign, which, in a way, it really was.</p><p>The expression that Mal - Draco, Draco Draco <em>Draco</em> - gave her wasn't impressed. "Pronunciation needs some practice, I'd say."</p><p>She crossed her arms irately. "Well, if you want me to call you Draco, <em>Draco,</em> then you aren't allowed to call me Granger, or Lady Evans, or My, or any of those absolute rubbish names."</p><p>His lips twitched upward slightly. "Whatever shall I call you, then?"</p><p>She held back a triumphant smile. "Hermione, of course."</p><p><em>Who needs the pronunciation practice now? </em>she couldn't help but think smugly.</p><p>But her complacency faded instantly when all amusement fell from his expression, and he seemed to freeze entirely, his grey eyes locked on hers. His abrupt reaction was so extreme that even Hermione froze, fearing the worst - that someone had snuck up directly behind her. But then Draco jerked slightly, shaking his head, and his gaze quickly shifted away from her.</p><p>"I- I'm sorry, what -" his faint voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, "what did you say?"</p><p>She swiftly looked behind her; when she saw the common room was still empty, she let out a breath of relief. "Erm…" Briefly, she placed a hand over her pounding heart. "That... 'Hermione.' It's my real name." She frowned. "Contrary to popular opinion, I actually like it. The idea of you thinking of me as My is just disturbing."</p><p>"What, have you suddenly become un-My'ed?" he asked sardonically, his strange behavior gone as quickly as it'd come.</p><p>She snorted slightly, slowly relaxing again. <em>Am I </em>bantering<em> with Draco Malfoy?</em> "You don't even want to know."</p><p>"Well then." Draco pulled himself up, looking at her intently. "Are you alright, Hermione?"</p><p>Her name rolled off his lips so accurately, it startled her. At best, most people took a few hours to sort it out; Viktor Krum, at worst, had taken months... not to mention it was the first time she had ever heard Draco Malfoy's voice say her given name, and without an ounce of scorn. "That came to you rather easily."</p><p>He smirked slightly. "I'm not <em>quite</em> an idiot." At that, Hermione's lips tugged upward before she could stop them, but his expression shifted back to seriousness. "You didn't answer my question."</p><p>She sighed, her faint smile vanishing as well. "Am I alright about what?"</p><p>"The Dark Arts. Everything."</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>No, she absolutely wasn't. But she didn't want to give him - give anyone who knew she wasn't Moronic My - the impression that she was anything other than at least halfway in control. She certainly couldn't tell Pansy; the girl clung to her with her eyes as if Hermione, whoever Pansy thought she was, was going to be her people's salvation. And now Draco, who was kept chained to this prison cell simply awaiting the next time Ronáld got angry or intoxicated or bored, was asking if <em>she</em> was alright?</p><p>"Fine," she managed to bite out.</p><p>"Hermione," he said chidingly, just like Harry would when she was holding something back, as if Draco <em>knew</em> her, somehow, even though there was no way that was remotely possible.</p><p>The thing was... he was right.</p><p>She stared at her lap. "I hate that I didn't <em>do</em> something," she mumbled.</p><p>He immediately shook his head. "You couldn't have."</p><p>She looked up at him, her eyes blazing. "I could have. I <em>should</em> have."</p><p>"No, you shouldn't've. I mean..." Draco sighed and clasped his hands, his expression becoming pensive, distant, visibly searching for what to say. "Hermione, you have to understand... the worst sort of atrocities have been committed here for far longer than the time it's been since you saw me in the courtyard. It won't... make much difference if it all goes on a bit longer. But you..." He looked over at her, "You're important. There might be a time and a place for you to help, but I suggest you wait for the most effective moment if there is. One that won't get you arrested and other things you can't even imagine for simply opening your mouth."</p><p>At the emotion that choked her throat and relief that washed over her like a flood, Hermione suspected she'd been waiting for someone, <em>anyone</em> to tell her those words from the moment she'd fallen onto the Hogwarts Express in Universe B.</p><p>Burning emotion filled her eyes, blurring her vision. "I've - I've thought of that as well," she admitted thickly, and cleared her throat. "But it doesn't make holding back any easier when I've seen so many basic rights trampled on and so many people who are no longer even <em>considered</em> people just... suffering."</p><p>Something shadowed passed behind Draco's expression. "I know."</p><p>And from the weight with which he voiced those two words, he sounded like he truly did.</p><p>Several moments of silence passed between them, the common room still thankfully empty in its midday slump, and Hermione had to wonder how long their luck there would continue. She sniffed, quickly swiping at her eyes. "Sorry to have put that on you; I realize you've got more than your fair share of problems already."</p><p>An insulted expression crossed his face. <em>"</em>My fair share of problems? My life's far easier than yours, I'll have you know. No rent, no taxes, no laundry, no homework… It isn't half bad, really." His half-hearted smile didn't reach his eyes, though. It faded after a moment, and he visibly hesitated, then spoke. "The next time they make you practice those Curses - and they will - the best thing you can do is get good at them."</p><p>She stared at him. <em>"What?" </em></p><p>"I mean - so when you do have to cast them on someone, and I repeat, one day you'll have to, you can cast it fast and hard, so they pass out. So they don't have to feel the side effects of a poorly cast spell. So they don't have to endure an endless stream of suffering and inept <em>idiots</em> before they finally lose consciousness, or worse." He lowered an inscrutable gaze on her. "Believe me, Hermione. I know. It may be the greatest kindness you can ever do them."</p><p>Hermione literally felt the feeling of helplessness shift in her mind at the terrible truth to his words - something that she had never considered, never <em>allowed</em> herself to consider before. It didn't mean she had to like or use the Unforgivable Curses any more than she had to - and she still didn't know if she could cast them at all. But at least it made sense.</p><p>If she couldn't change this dark world, if she had to pick up the curses to survive, then the least she could do was learn how to cast them in such a way that people suffered<em> less.</em></p><p>She focused back on Draco with new respect. He visibly hesitated, then lifted both of his chained hands and placed the right one flat on the bars, his long, pale fingers spread wide. "You can do it, you know. I had to. I'd like to think I managed to preserve some goodness inside me through it all."</p><p>Hermione glanced between his face and his hand, remembering his interaction with Peia and realizing what he was doing now. "It's not that; it's - brilliant, really, I just… I have to think about it." And she did, though she knew she didn't have much time until her next Dark Arts class, and she certainly couldn't skip them forever.</p><p>Draco's lip quirked slightly. "I'd expect nothing less."</p><p>After a moment of indecision, she reached over, holding up her own hand, and placed her smaller palm to his warm one, barely touching through the thick bars between them. "How's your…?" With her other hand, she gestured at her torso, referring to the burns he'd been given that she'd never seen fully healed.</p><p>He gave her a small, tired smile. "Still doesn't hurt anymore."</p><p>She smiled back weakly, but couldn't bring herself to summon any of the easy wit and humor that this Draco, incomprehensibly, seemed so ready and able to conjure even in the very worst of situations... even if it was, as she strongly suspected, a veil to cope with something far darker.</p><p>"Thanks," she said quietly. "For listening to my whinging."</p><p>"I'd hardly call it whinging," he responded just as softly.</p><p>The kindness in his voice was as effective as a healing balm; real amusement arose in her, and Hermione felt what was perhaps the first truly relaxed smile since she'd arrived in Universe B at all tug wide at her lips and crinkle her eyes. "Then you're a rare specimen, Draco Malfoy."</p><p>For a moment, he only stared at her.</p><p>Then, he bowed his head without reply. His chest had begun to rise and fall more rapidly, his fingers clenching slightly, and an instant before Hermione could ask what was wrong, he and the chains at his wrists abruptly hit the bars below her hand with such force that the sound of metal striking metal caused her ears to ring. <em>"Damn</em> it!"</p><p>Hermione jumped, then placed a hand over her pounding heart, reminding herself to breathe. "Draco?" she asked sharply, but her startlement turned to concern when she caught his anguished expression, his eyes glistening.</p><p>He took a slow, deep breath, as if he was trying to calm himself.</p><p>"This is the first time," he said slowly, "the first time in a very, very long while that I've felt this - this... this <em>angry."</em> He ran tense hands up and down the slim metal barriers between his prison and the world beyond before he bowed his head, gripping them tightly. "I shouldn't. I shouldn't feel this. I shouldn't feel…" He trailed off, his jaw clenched. When he looked back at her, his gaze was smoldering. "I suddenly – I just want to get out of here <em>so bloody</em> <em>much –" </em></p><p>Abruptly, the portrait banged opened, and Hermione flung the Invisibility Cloak around her completely as a boisterous mob of students tumbled in. As if someone had pressed a button, the fight in Draco's thin shoulders deflated before her eyes to give way to a slumped posture of exhaustion and despair. He swiftly shrank away from the bars, though his hands still clenched them.</p><p>For a moment, the Cloak shimmered as Hermione's hand flashed out from beneath it, catching his own and and curling perfectly manicured fingers around his. She leaned toward him, her voice low, but loud enough that he could hear her over the chatting students.</p><p>"There's a time and place to feel nothing. But also there's also a time and place to feel <em>everything,"</em> she whispered.<em> "</em>Save your emotions for when you need them the most. But when you do - <em>Feel, </em>Draco. And not just anger or hate, but most importantly, love. Feel <em>love.</em> That'll keep you alive, that'll keep you human, when nothing else does, when no one else is."</p><p>His fingers abruptly tightened around hers, and through them she willed the determination that had carried her through seven and a half years of helping Harry battle Lord Voldemort. Of surviving the Second Wizarding War at all.</p><p>When Hermione left the Gryffindor Common Room, Draco's shoulders didn't seem quite so sunken; his face not quite so crushed. And for a witch who was determined to return to her world no matter the cost, that meant more to her than she cared to admit.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Greatest Kindness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Another few weeks passed. Hermione had immediately begun to teach herself Advanced Occlumency, and, at every possible opportunity, she escaped to the library, where she discovered five basic Universe B truths:</p><p>1) Thanks to Dumbledore's fascination with and later integration of Muggle technology, Muggleborns and Mixed-bloods had for decades been prized for their inborn familiarity with both the non-magical and magical worlds - while Old-Bloods were simultaneously dismissed for their lack of it. (<em>A</em><em>s if they wouldn't be able to <strong>learn,</strong></em> Hermione thought irately.)</p><p>2) As the adopted daughter of the Sovereign's First Viceroy, My Granger Evans was part of a small but powerful aristocracy called "the Elite." Although this hallowed class held some prominent wizarding families like the Weasleys, Longbottoms and Prewetts, it seemed to consist of an equally proportionate if not disproportionately high number of Mixed-Bloods and Muggleborns, a seemingly egalitarian achievement that, as far as Hermione knew, not even Universe A's prewar Ministry of Magic could claim.</p><p>3) If Sovereignty-written material could be believed, the International Confederation of Wizards seemed to have completely bought into what Hermione suspected was blatantly false propaganda about the once-free conservatives' pernicious intentions. Many leading foreign diplomats had even praised Dumbledore's decisive management of the United Kingdom's "dangerous insurgent demagoguery,' instead of criticizing him for green-lighting the brutal suppression of human rights it truly was. It was enough to derail Hermione's hope that, somewhere in the world, <em>someone</em> in power still had a shred of decency, but some part of her did question the likelihood that the IWC had been given the full story. Still, simply the <em>idea</em> of sorting out how to test those waters without poking her head too far above the sand was one she couldn't begin to contemplate because:</p><p>4) Hogwarts' library held enough books on Dark Arts translation spells and alternative dimension theory that she would need months to read them, and the ones she'd blazed through already<em> still</em> hadn't described her white-light/body-piercing-and-swapping experience.</p><p>5) To make matters worse, she'd quickly discovered that, while all House-Wizards were technically the permanent property of the State, the private leasing market for them was purely capitalistic: the only way to take possession of a House-Witch or Wizard was for the present owner to literally sign the deed and the lead over to the new owner (or leasee, she supposed).</p><p>This was the final blow in a series of factual hits that had left Hermione reeling and discouraged. It was fairly clear that neither Ronáld nor Ginevra would ever relinquish ownership of Draco for any price she could offer. Even if they <em>did</em> consider it, simply proposing the acquisition of a wizard that My supposedly found repellent would surely arouse considerable suspicion.</p><p>In all, she'd been exposed to a glut of information, and little of it had been good.</p><p>There had to be another way, she told herself. To return home to Universe A; to help Draco escape in the time she was here...</p><p>Those answers simply hadn't appeared yet. But they would.</p><p>
  <em>They would.</em>
</p><p>It was as much a prayer as it was a desperate reassurance.</p><hr/><p>In perhaps the only positive development, Hermione had befriended Draco's cousin Peia, who turned out to be a chatty, insightful girl with a curiosity and stubborn streak not unlike Hermione herself. The child had surprisingly accepted her rather quickly, especially given My's minor reputation for disliking young children (according to Pansy, My had claimed she found them "grubby and uncivilized"). After swearing Peia to secrecy, Hermione showed her how to access the Head common room and reunited her with Pansy, who Peia seemed to know well.</p><p>After a heated debate, she was also able to convince the wild-haired girl that she'd be more useful keeping Pansy company in My's quarters than sneaking over to see Draco.</p><p>"We can't just leave him alone every day!" Peia had argued. "You haven't seen him at his worst. He needed me last year. I know he says he doesn't, but he can't do it by himself! He needs to know someone's there for him!"</p><p>Hermione's stomach twisted, first at the thought of what Draco had already endured for over a year, and then at the idea of Peia placing herself in the line of fire <em>every day </em>in a brave effort that would sadly get Draco nowhere and Peia herself badly punished, at a minimum. She wanted to argue that she imagined Draco had been at or very near his worst during the few times she'd seen him, but she reminded herself she was talking to a twelve-year-old.</p><p>"He's an adult now; he can handle himself," she said firmly, even though the words felt hollow on her lips. "But he wouldn't be able to bear it if something happened to you as well."</p><p>The latter, she at least knew was true.</p><p>"Sod me!" Peia exclaimed, dark eyes wide and wild in an eerily unmistakable resemblance to her mother. "What they <em>do</em> to him, the horrible, terrible things... he can't, Hermione. You know he can't!"</p><p>Hermione worriedly glanced upward toward her head quarters - they were in the common room now - hoping that the elevated shout wouldn't carry to Pansy; the last thing she wanted was to cause the kind-hearted witch unnecessary worry over the horrific situation in which one of her best friends was trapped.</p><p>"You're right, Peia. He can't do it by himself," she said in a low voice, if only to placate her, and quickly.</p><p>Peia tilted her head at Hermione momentarily, before her eyes widened hopefully. "So you mean, you'll - you'll go be with him instead!"</p><p>Hermione's mouth opened to argue, and then closed quickly.</p><p>Peia had her there.</p><p>And, she was ashamed to realize... Peia was right.</p><p>Whether she'd been in denial over the impossibility of the House-Wizard situation or the magnitude of the abuse, Hermione had been so consumed with spending every waking hour in the library searching for answers to her own Big Problem - interdimensional travel - and Draco's and Pansy's Big Problem - the House-Wizard bond - that she had neglected to consider not only Pansy's, but especially Draco's, basic but very pressing needs on a day-to-day basis.</p><p>Guilt twisted inside her. Even if the backup healing enchantments cast upon Draco would ultimately keep him from slipping beyond the Veil, in what world had she <em>ever</em> thought it was alright to ignore the rest of it: that it would be sufficient to only assist him when she knew his injuries were severe or when she needed emotional support, leaving him to fend for himself the majority of the time?</p><p>She focused back on Peia, nodding once, resolutely. "Yes," she said, despite the curl of fear that crept through her chest at the thought of the risk such a promise might entail. "I will."</p><p>Peia searched her gaze, then nodded, too. "Good. You can help each other."</p><p>Whatever that meant.</p><p>So Peia began to make frequent trips to Hermione's quarters to spend time and study, using a galleon equipped with a Protean Charm like those for Dumbledore Army to alert Hermione when she wanted to come by. If Hermione's response was warm, it was safe to visit; if it was cold, Harry was around, or Hermione was away.</p><p>In the meantime, Hermione kept her promise to Peia: As often as she could, she'd bring Draco much-needed nourishment she'd smuggle regularly from the Great Hall. Although the Gryffindor Common Room was usually sparse at the hours she'd choose, she would still weave her strongest Shield charms along the stretch of wall holding his claustrophobic-inducing prison cavity and toss her Invisibility Cloak over her shoulders as a final measure. (To her frustration, she hadn't been able to reproduce the Eighth-Level Invisibility Charm since her first casting of it.)</p><p>Though Hermione was careful to be deliberately vague about her own past and her plans for the present, she was surprised that Draco never once inquired about his fellow conservatives or mentioned his previous relationships with them.</p><p>Rather, sometimes they spoke quietly about Peia, or the political and societal structure of Universe B, or various spells and their uses.</p><p>Sometimes when too much or too few thoughts of home sent Hermione into a despondency as severe as she'd had during the depths of the Second Wizarding War, Draco, remarkably, would say something comically witty at which she couldn't help but laugh, or would purposely goad her into an indignance that spurted fire back into her veins.</p><p>But far too often, he would simply lean exhaustedly against the bars of the cage, eyes closed, as a silently distraught, frequently fuming Hermione healed wound after open wound, then cast glamour charms on him to make it appear as though she hadn't.</p><p>"It'll… all be alright," she choked out at one point when the entire skin of his left arm looked as though it'd been singed off.</p><p>His head hung limply, as if even the strength to hold it upright had left him. Shadows that weren't only from tiredness dotted his face and neck; although she'd never walked in on him being directly assaulted again, she'd helplessly learnt that bruises would reappear on his pale features almost as quickly as she healed them. "You don't really believe that," he rasped dully, his voice hoarse.</p><p>Hermione couldn't bring herself to answer that honestly and didn't trust herself to lie to him convincingly. Instead, she slowly reached her hand in through the bars and took his gaunt cheek in her palm, drawing his exhausted gaze, willing her apology through her eyes. A moment later, she silently sent the most advanced healing charm she knew into his arm. As the searing bite of the swiftly regenerative magic gripped him, he stiffened and inhaled sharply, his eyes squeezed shut.</p><p>Slowly, he relaxed back into her hand, his breath ragged.</p><p>For seconds or minutes, they didn't speak.</p><p>"Hermione," he suddenly said faintly, "no matter what happens, you need to know-"</p><p>Something wrenched deep within her, and she quickly placed a gentle finger to the chapped skin of lips, halting his words. "I know, Draco. I know," she said quietly, her jaw tight - even though she wasn't quite certain she did. But she wasn't prepared for "no matter what" statements yet... wasn't prepared to accept the emotions and the attachment and loss that came with them.</p><hr/><p>Ironically, in spite of her earlier words of wisdom to Draco, aside from fear and desperate determination, it was hatred, not love, that drove her most those first weeks.</p><p>She <em>hated</em> the Weasleys for what they were doing to Draco.</p><p>She hated every student and professor at Hogwarts who stood by uselessly or eagerly, facilitating not only his persecution but that of <em>every</em> House-Wizard there, with not a single word of condemnation or act of compassion.</p><p>She hated that no matter how painstakingly she searched, she couldn't find anything she could do to successfully extract him without tipping off the government and bringing down its wrath upon them.</p><p>She hated that this was probably happening to countless other witches and wizards across the Sovereignty, and a wider world existed which either didn't know, didn't care, or knowingly condoned it.</p><p>And she hated that she was afraid to let herself care as much about it as she wanted to.</p><p>Because if Hermione started to care too much about this place… what could she do about it? She had no allies who weren't virtual slaves, and the entire militant Dark Arts state she'd be up against if she helped a single one of them was running like a well-oiled machine. Anything she could even conceive of trying would in all probability be discovered eventually, so beyond failing the good, the decent in this world… she would also fail to return home.</p><p>And returning home was the objective that mattered to her most.</p><hr/><p>If there was anyone here she was prepared to trust with the full truth of who she was, Hermione admitted it would be Draco.</p><p>Yes, he may have looked like the foul little cockroach she once loathed, and sometimes smirked like him, too, but beyond that, he was <em>nothing</em> like him. In fact, Hermione thought the strength, sanity and for Merlin's sake, <em>humor</em> that he'd somehow managed to preserve through his confinement was extraordinary. But with the Weasleys' control of him through the House-Wizard bond, she didn't see how any information she placed with him could remain fully secure.</p><p>To her surprise, he never once asked her, either, although she'd sometimes inadvertently make references to her other life and world that would leave him examining her with a searching gaze, and she knew he must have wanted to.</p><p>She actually found Draco Malfoy's Universe B alter ego so jarringly genuine in a sea of Sovereignty sycophants that she casually breached the topic with Pansy one day. Her memory of Universe A's thoroughly self-serving ferret was strong enough that she couldn't shake the smallest suspicion he was simply manipulating her to his own ends, whatever they were.</p><p>But Pansy had immediately put that fear to rest. "Oh, he's wonderful, Hermione," she gushed. "So many people only look out for themselves, but Draco - he truly cares about everyone. He has for as long as I've known him."</p><p>Well, that could explain why he'd been so shockingly nice to her from nearly day one.</p><p>Still, Pansy spoke so highly of him that for some reason, Hermione felt compelled to ask, "You and he weren't... dating, were you?"</p><p>After all, while she knew more than most that it was very possible for an unrelated man and woman to be platonic best friends, she also remembered the emotions she'd felt for the last third of the Golden Trio.</p><p>"No!" Pansy's response was immediate. She even wrinkled her nose slightly. "No, he was like a brother to me. I've never thought of him like that, and he certainly wasn't interested in me, either."</p><p>"Oh? Someone else, then?" Hermione didn't know why she was so curious about Draco Malfoy's romantic life; she supposed that in the midst of the dark, heavy subjects that usually surrounded her every thought and discussion, a conversation as innocent as a who-fancied-who was a luxury.</p><p>Pansy shook her head and shrugged, her gaze distant. "Draco was funny. He never seemed to overtly fancy anyone. Much to the disappointment of many girls, I should add." She smiled slightly in recollection. "But I know he did."</p><p>Hermione couldn't help but smile too, remembering the moment she'd first noticed that Ginny had liked Harry, and then, eventually, vice versa. "How?"</p><p>"Because when I asked him once about the type of girl he'd fancy, he didn't even need to think about it." A strange expression suddenly crossed her face; she glanced at Hermione once, her expression unreadable, before furrowing her brow. "He described her... perfectly."</p><p>Hermione waited. When Pansy didn't say anything else, she raised her eyebrows. "And?"</p><p>Pansy blinked. "Well, nothing really. Only... Well, you can't get that specific unless you have someone specific in mind, can you?"</p><p>Hermione considered her reasoning. If someone from her own world had asked her about the type of man she might prefer, would she have instantly described Ron? Someone who made her laugh, who wasn't afraid to disagree with her and make her think, who was loyal, caring, stupidly stubborn on occasion, brighter than they gave themselves credit for?</p><p>"Did anyone fit her description, then?" she asked after a moment.</p><p>Pansy shook her head slowly, her expression still ruminative. "No one I'd known then, at least."</p><p>Hermione couldn't deny that she was grateful for the presence of the reserved, kind Slytherin witch. It gradually became impossibly difficult - and more and more impractical - to watch the dark-haired woman perk up whenever Hermione inquired about a topic that could conceivably link her to the rest of the conservatives, whom Hermione suspected Pansy dearly hoped were simply in hiding somewhere, just waiting to make comeback. Rather than allow to continue the assumption that Hermione was spying on behalf of some extinct faction, she eventually sat down with Pansy and offered <em>some</em> truth behind her origins:</p><p>That she had, somehow, been transferred to this world from another earth, similar in structure and species, one that also possessed magic but hadn't embraced the Dark Arts on a global scale.</p><p>Hermione realized how utterly mad that sounded and had no idea if Pansy actually believed her, but at least the blind faith in the other woman's blue eyes shifted to an acknowledgement that Hermione was just as human - and, in many ways, just as uninformed - as Pansy herself was.</p><p>Hermione didn't tell her that she <em>knew </em>everyone in this universe, but that they were all bizarre opposites of themselves. She didn't tell her that she was the brightest witch of her age. She didn't tell her that she'd for seven and a half years helped her classmate battle the advances of a Dark Lord intent on destroying him, or that Muggleborns had also been hunted, that she'd survived torture, that she'd been at the forefront of her own universe's stand for independence.</p><p>She didn't tell her it was a war they'd finally won.</p><p>The risk of what could happen if anyone else here discovered that information was something Hermione didn't want to contemplate.</p><hr/><p>It took hours of regular practicing with Pansy, but pretending to be My Evans became slightly more second nature. Pansy had taken to making a pointedly obnoxious noise whenever Hermione fell out of character (or as close to obnoxious as she could come; when Hermione had first tasked her with it, Pansy had burst into giggles whenever the sound left her mouth).</p><p>Apparently, Hermione had needed to substantially increase her frequency of whining, pouting, and huffing - tips that she could instantly put to good use, both out of the classroom and inside it.</p><p>After she'd received solid failing marks on every Potions assignment she'd attempted since the start of the semester, Snape asked her to stay after class. Pansy had told her that it had been My's worst subject, followed closely by the Dark Arts, and Hermione hadn't wanted to stray from character.</p><p>She couldn't say she hadn't expected Snape's attention, but she was still apprehensive about squaring off with the astute Potions Master one-on-one. He certainly didn't seem to have been spy in this universe, and thus probably hadn't needed to learn Legilimency, but she absolutely couldn't risk being caught off guard if he had.</p><p>Breathing steadily to keep her heartbeat calm, Hermione flippantly sat down at his desk, focusing closely on Snape's smartly dressed doppelgänger to keep any incriminating thoughts from the forefront of her mind. When she'd overheard Romilda Vane tittering to Leanne Matherson last week about Snape's supposed attractiveness, to say Hermione had been revolted had been a substantial understatement. But she reluctantly had to admit that his grooming habits in Universe B had done <em>much</em> to improve his appearance... had his decidedly over-the-top personality not negated any net positive effect.</p><p>"Will this take long, Professor?" she asked sweetly. "The girls are outside; I'm in a bit of a hurry."</p><p>Snape tilted his head at her, dark eyes studying her shrewdly. "Well, 'the girls' will have to wait, Evans, won't they?" he said with no little snark - the only instructor who didn't call her by her 'Elite' title, or demonstrate any respect toward the Sovereignty status that honorific supposedly conferred.</p><p>He opened a lower desk drawer, pointedly swooping down dramatically to reach inside. After a moment, he sat back up and tossed a small, stoppered phial on the desk. Hermione immediately recognized her initials on it.</p><p>"Bulbadox powder to boil cure potion," he said with almost theatrically exaggerated flair.</p><p>She let out an excessively loud breath of annoyance and pasted a bored expression on her face.</p><p>Snape regarded her for a moment, then reached back into the drawer and tossed another vial on the table.</p><p>"Magnesium to fire protection potion."</p><p>She resisted the urge to tense and instead looked blankly around the room, wondering where he was going with this melodramatic display.</p><p>Again, he reached down and threw a third vial on the table.</p><p>"Mandrake root and wolfsbane to dreamless sleep potion."</p><p>He sat back and abruptly held up a hand as if asking for an explanation, his gaze not so much accusing as curious.</p><p>Hermione pointedly rolled her eyes, injecting as much attitude into her voice as she could. <em>"So?" </em></p><p>"Every ingredient I just named - every ingredient you used - is the <em>exact</em> opposite of the correct one. The exact. The antidotes to each of those potions would be utterly useless without them."</p><p>In a rush, unease gripped her stomach.</p><p>He was right. Hermione hadn't even realized she was doing it nor how obvious it was; for each potion, she'd simply reached for the ingredient that had made the least amount of sense to use. Somehow, the fact that this small but blatant error hadn't even occurred to her made the ground beneath her feet feel that much more unstable.</p><p>
  <em>Stupid, Hermione, stupid!</em>
</p><p>Reminding herself that Snape hadn't actually accused her of anything yet, she swallowed back her growing unease and sniffed scornfully, scowling at him. "Yes, yes, the world knows I'm terrible at Potions. <em>Must</em> you rub it in?"</p><p>He snorted. "Terrible? It's brilliant. Only problem is you're trying too hard to cock it up." He leaned toward her, smirking triumphantly; anxiety abruptly crushed her chest. "You don't have to be embarrassed about being smart at something, Ms. Evans."</p><p>
  <em>Oh thank Merlin.</em>
</p><p>The adrenaline ebbed as quickly as it had surged, while Snape unexpectedly frowned. "Although, depending on your choice of mate, I'm told it may decrease your sex appeal."</p><p>Hearing Snape voice the words 'mate' and 'sex appeal' wasn't even enough to throw her anymore. Hermione focused on him quickly, relief flowing as readily as the lie that easily formulated on her lips.</p><p>"Professor, I… I was doing so poorly that this summer, my mother had me… <em>tutored."</em> She curled her lip in an attempt to emphasize her disgust at the idea. Snape hadn't attempted Legilimency yet, but just in case he did, she pushed memories of her working diligently over a cauldron in Universe A through her mind. "When I was still assigned to Remedial Potions, well - you know how it is. I didn't want to embarrass the girls." She huffed a sigh. "They can be so <em>petty</em> over that sort of thing."</p><p>"Yes, well, intellectually-challenged sabotage and bursts of jealous rage aside - which I'd be quite keen on witnessing, mind you-" his gaze became momentarily distant, as if imagining this sight, before snapping back to her, "-I assure you your status as reigning Queen of Hogwarts will likely not be drastically affected if you allow yourself to begin to pass my Potions class."</p><p>Hermione widened her eyes ingenuously. "Oh, do you really think so?"</p><p>He snorted. "I know so. But you can't sic your mother on me in the case it is."</p><p>She let her face fall. "So you don't know so."</p><p>Snape sat back and cocked his head at her with the sliver of an amused grin - an utterly bizarre image that, while not an infrequent occurrence here, she <em>still</em> wasn't used to. He waggled his finger at her. "You are far more intelligent than you seem, Evans."</p><p>The words weren't voiced suspiciously so much as encouragingly. Still, Hermione couldn't help but hold back a small twinge of triumph. Y<em>ou have no idea. </em></p><p>"Are we done here?" she asked rudely, standing before he even gave an answer.</p><p>He glared at her sternly, then sighed loudly and dramatically rolled his eyes. "Alright, yes, now you can go join <em>the girls," </em>he said mockingly.</p><p>Hermione narrowed her eyes at him as if she was not amused, and, really, she shouldn't have been: on the whole, it appeared Severus Snape, comedic or dour, would be ill-mannered and sharp-witted no matter the universe in which she found him.</p><p>"Professor," she said dryly by way of parting. Without another word, she turned, sashaying toward the door.</p><p>"Oh, Evans!" he called abruptly. "Catch!"</p><p>Startled, Hermione barely swiveled in time to snatch from the air the phial that Snape flung her way with his wand. She squinted down at it. It was empty of liquid, but a folded piece of paper was corked inside.</p><p>"Lady Weasley's latest missed assignment," he explained. "Since I can only assume she's one of your loyal subjects, be sure to relay that if she doesn't return that <em>fully completed</em> by our appointment at five, her marks will be sunk faster than she can score at Quidditch."</p><p>Hermione glared at him. "Do I <em>look</em> like a Messenger owl?"</p><p>Snape gave her a befuddled expression before widening his eyes and opening his mouth slightly, as if astonished to realize she wasn't. The effect was so unexpectedly hilarious that Hermione quickly <em>ha-rumphed</em>, haughtily shoving her nose in the air, and fled the Potions classroom before she could burst out laughing.</p><p>To their credit, Lavender and Parvati were still waiting for her when she emerged. After some disagreement, they pointed her in the direction of Ginevra's possible location.</p><p>"Quidditch practice, likely. By the lake. She's obsessive." Lavender sounded bored.</p><p>Parvati shook her head vigorously. "No, no - weren't her knickers in a twist about<em> something?"</em></p><p>Lavender's eyes widened. "Oooo. Right, she was. The deliciously unattainable Harry Evans doing his dirty worst again." She chortled once. "Don't know why she keeps trying, really; there's so many other blokes she could easily have. It's like watching a kitten try to climb a Swooping Evil... not that, erm, your brother's evil, or anything," she added hastily at Hermione's arched brow. "He just likes - swooping... on his broom?"</p><p>Hermione wasn't certain she agreed with Lavender's assessment of this Harry as non-evil, but her annoyance was sincere; this tangent still brought her no closer to actually <em>learning</em> the witch's location. "In other words, she's…?"</p><p>Parvati sighed self-sufferingly, as if anyone with half a brain should have known. "Oh, of course the spare Dark Arts classroom, My!" she exclaimed. "But I'm not certain now's the best-"</p><p>"Why not?" Hermione interrupted impatiently, a verbal tactic she'd quickly noticed was utilized often by the limited number of "Elite" students to emphasize their power over the conversation and, presumably, the student social stratum.</p><p>Parvati blinked at her. "Well, she'll be <em>busy,</em>" she said pointedly.</p><p>Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, please, Parvati. You should know by now that no one's ever too busy for me."</p><p>Though the statement was utterly preposterous in its arrogance, Lavender made a silly face of contemplation, and then giggled and nodded. "Yeah, that's about right."</p><p>Playing My really <em>was</em> becoming easier, Hermione thought as they parted ways. It simply consisted of amplifying an already egotistical response to the absurd, and delivering the performance as if her behavior was perfectly acceptable.</p><hr/><p>Apparently, while Ginevra was failing Potions, she ruled supreme at the Dark Arts, which didn't surprise Hermione after witnessing the redheaded witch nearly detonate her own brother's head on the Hogwarts Express. With her unpredictability and uncontrolled temper, she reminded Hermione of a deadly combination of Bellatrix Lestrange and Ginny herself. She was also the Universe B female who seemed to know My best, which meant Hermione had to maneuver especially carefully around her.</p><p>Hermione easily found her way to the spare Dark Arts classroom. Like so many spaces here, it had been used for the same purpose in Universe A, although for Defense Against the Dark Arts.</p><p>When she passed the vampire statue supposedly guarding Lucius Malfoy, she didn't even look at it, though she was acutely aware of its presence. Her gut twisted uncomfortably, and she bit her lip, forcing herself to stifle any twinges of guilt. <em>The Dark forces at work here were far greater than any counter ones she alone possessed,</em> she told herself for the hundredth, thousandth time.</p><p>She <em>couldn't</em> get involved.</p><p>She was already too involved.</p><p>Carelessly discarded on the hallway floor beside the spare classroom door were Gryffindor Quidditch practice robes and a sleek broom. Cautiously stepping over them, she entered the room at the same time that Ginevra shouted, <em>"Diripio epidermal!"</em></p><p>Hermione stopped dead, her heart in her throat.</p><p>The otherwise empty classroom had been cleared of desks for dueling practice. In the very middle of it, Ginevra, her back to Hermione, was tautly perched like a vulture over the stiff, prone form of Draco Malfoy. A jet of red light stretched from her wand to his stomach, branching to flow across his entire body.</p><p>The air vanished from Hermione's lungs.</p><p>
  <em>No, no, no, no...</em>
</p><p>Momentarily forgetting her reason for being there in the first place, she swiftly examined Draco's body for some visual indication of what Ginevra was doing to him. An ugly discoloration marred most of his cadaverous left cheek, new gashes that almost resembled claw marks slashed across the front of his chest. While he didn't move - he was body bound, she realized - his eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead with the most horrific expression of the purest agony Hermione had ever seen.</p><p>The desperation to <em>do something immediately</em> and the knowledge that <em>she</em> <em>couldn't</em> surged through her system in a shock of adrenaline, and it took every ounce of control she possessed to keep her countenance devoid of any indication of it.</p><p>"Ginevra!" she exclaimed in greeting, hoping a distraction might be enough to end the effects of the spell like it could the Cruciatus Curse, for example.</p><p>The word emerged more shrilly than she would have liked.</p><p>Ginevra spun, still-outstretched wand coming to point directly at her chest.</p><p>Hermione's immediate instinct was to defend herself; she wrestled the knee-jerk response and her wand arm to her side, shoving a scandalized expression to her face instead. <em>"What</em> is your problem?" she gritted out with a theatrical huff.</p><p>As soon as Ginevra saw it was her, she lowered her wand and glared at her. "Bugger, My. Trying to get yourself cursed?"</p><p>"I thought you stopped being so paranoid," Hermione snapped in reply. She'd learned from Pansy that My did sometimes use slightly bigger words, if they were insulting. She flounced forward, all but flinging Snape's phial at Ginevra; despite her forcefulness, the athletic witch easily caught it one-handedly. "Love Potion from your <em>favorite</em> professor. Says you've only got an hour to finish your assignment."</p><p>Ginevra scowled. "Bloody hell, not Snape again." She all but ripped the cork out of the phial. "I swear, if I were allowed to go mental on one professor here, <em>just one,</em> it would be him..."</p><p>As she read the note, Hermione subtly glanced beyond her to Draco.</p><p>Her breath caught in horror.</p><p>His eyes were still frozen in pain, clear, wet trails tracing streaks along his dirtied temples to his ears. Every visible ounce of his body had begun to turn a deep red, as if he was badly sunburned... or bleeding profusely just beneath the surface of his skin.</p><p>Without being obvious, Hermione edged her wand slightly out of her sweater sleeve and pointed its tip toward Draco.<em> Finite incantatem! s</em>he thought desperately.</p><p>No obvious change was immediately apparent; if the spell hadn't worked because her nonverbal magic was too weak or Ginevra's spell too powerful, she need to figure out the counterspell, and fast.</p><p>Diripio epidermal… Diripio meant 'to separate, tear apart,' and epidermal meant…</p><p>Skin.</p><p>
  <em>Oh sweet Merlin.</em>
</p><p>So much shock exploded through Hermione's brain that her head literally jerked forward, every physiological response in her body that could go off simultaneously going off. For a second, she honestly thought she was going to pass out.</p><p>
  <em>You cruel, heartless savage! </em>
</p><p>Like a righteous wave, hot fury swiftly swept through her and commandeered control of every nerve in her body.</p><p>At that moment, if she thought she could get away with it, Hermione didn't doubt she could have killed Ginevra Weasley.</p><p>She set her jaw to stop herself from saying something she might regret; she was actually afraid she might start screaming. Never in her life had she attempted to cast a nonverbal advanced healing spell, but again subtly pointing her wand, she gathered the energy behind her rage and briefly closed her eyes, forcing the most powerful one she knew toward Draco in an invisible wave -</p><p>The sound of shattering glass jolted her from her concentration.</p><p>"…nothing better to do than rabbit after students," Ginevra was saying, her voice bitter. Hermione focused back on the redhead in time to see her toss Snape's note to the ground - next to the broken remains of the phial - and fire an <em>Incindio </em>at it. In an instant, it'd turned to ash.</p><p>"But… don't you need to… do that assignment?" Hermione managed to choke out through the haze of horrified anger dotting her brain.</p><p>Ginevra snorted. "I'll make Father handle it, just like your mum does. I'm hardly concerned."</p><p>
  <em>Oh dear Godric, please let me get through the next five minutes without doing anything incredibly daft.</em>
</p><p>Hermione threw another quick glance at Draco. She was unspeakably relieved to see her healing charm had worked and his body had returned to a less bloody shade, eliminating that pressing hurdle, but now she was faced with another problem: She had to distract Ginevra; better yet, clear her out of the classroom for good. It was obvious this was her last chance with Snape, so why had she destroyed the assignment?</p><p>"You're sore about something," Hermione noted snottily.</p><p>"I'm not sore about anything." Abruptly, Ginevra threw another fireball straight at Draco's head. Hermione's hand jumped to her wand before she could stop herself, but the spell thankfully slammed into the floor an inch away from his face instead. "Why would I be sore about something?"</p><p>Hermione tried to focus on the conversation and not the rush of blood pounding through her temples. "If it's Harry -"</p><p>"I don't want to talk about Harry," Ginevra said flatly.</p><p>Hermione began to get a sick suspicion that this conversation might go as badly as the one she'd had with Lavender Brown over the death of her rabbit, but there was no way in heaven or hell or anything in between that she was simply going to leave Ginevra to continue her afternoon torturing session. "Fine then. Perhaps if you raise your Potions mark, you'll feel better about yourself. Snape seemed to think-"</p><p>"I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO SNAPE!" Ginevra shouted shrilly, causing Hermione to jerk in surprise and Draco's eyes to flinch. Ginevra spun back toward the incapacitated blond wizard. "All I want to do - is stay right here - and make this filthy <em>animal</em> feel half as bad as I do," she gritted out, jabbing her wand at him with each verbal punctuation. "So if you have any idea what's good for you, <em>My,</em> you'll sod off."</p><p>Hermione was shaking; her hands were actually shaking. <em>You cannot kill her, you cannot kill her…</em></p><p>Something must have changed in Draco's expression, because Ginevra suddenly laughed. "Oh, he's had such <em>fire</em> lately, too." She continued to chuckle, twirling her wand around her fingers before she raised it with a flourish. "It's at times like these when I take such pleasure in breaking him."</p><p>Against her better judgement, Hermione's gaze shifted to Draco, who had closed his eyes tightly. Something plummeted inside her chest. There was obviously nothing else she could say to deter Ginevra that wouldn't look like My was behaving desperately and suspiciously. The better question was, how could she stop <em>Draco's</em> suffering without making it appear as though she was helping him?</p><p>In an eerily calm clarity of vision, the realization of the only thing she possibly could do - <em>had</em> to do - crashed into her.</p><p>
  <em>"Rigamor-"</em>
</p><p>A moment before the redheaded witch could finish her next curse, Hermione casually stepped right in front of her, her back to Ginevra's wand. "I want a go at him," she announced, offhandedly gesturing at Draco.</p><p>For a moment, only silence and Draco's shallow, struggling breaths met her declaration.</p><p>"You <em>what?" </em>Ginevra asked in a low voice behind her, her tone a mix of astonishment and dangerous irritation.</p><p>Draco's eyes slowly opened, shifting toward her. The once-lifeless gray pools suddenly held the same fear and dread Peia's had when Hermione had accidentally scared her half to death at their first meeting. She forced herself to look away from him, and with a toss of her hair, turned back to Ginevra. "You know I'm just awful at the Dark Arts… They're so hard! If this is how you get better, I want to try."</p><p>When Ginevra frowned, she whined, "Oh, come on, Ginevra, my exam's on Tuesday and I don't know a single thing. At least let me practice the basics!"</p><p>"Practice on your own House-Witch."</p><p>"As if I would actually do homework in my bedroom," Hermione retorted disgustedly.</p><p>Ginevra let out a snort that could have been a laugh, but she continued to scowl irately. "Since when d'you become such a swot?" she sneered.</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, lighten <em>up,</em> whatever it is you're on about, Harry'll come around eventually and the world won't end. Now," she placed her hands on her hips, jutting out her chin in a pout, "can I get on with it, or do I have to listen to your whinging all day?"</p><p>She held her breath as Ginevra pursed her lips. Finally - thank <em>Merlin</em> and all the ghosts - she stepped back slightly, lowering her wand. "Fine. But you owe me."</p><p>Hermione could live with that. She smirked smugly, lifting her chin as if claiming victory over the argument, and twirled back to Draco.</p><p>"What're they teaching you in Remedial these days?" Ginevra asked, stepping up alongside her. Hermione couldn't quite tell if her tone was curious or mocking.</p><p>"Trifecta," she said unaffectedly, forcing with all her might any emotion from her face as she regarded Draco disinterestedly.</p><p>Ginevra chortled. "It really <em>is</em> remedial, isn't it? Which one're you trying - Imperius?"</p><p>"No." Hermione sighed self-sufferingly. "Cruciatus."</p><p>The shadow of her once-close friend laughed; her amusement turned Hermione's blood to ice. "Should've guessed that. You always did hate getting your hands dirty." Her dark mood suddenly seemed to revive. "Right, then. At least this'll be entertaining."</p><p>With a flick of her wand, Ginevra lifted Draco's stiff body into the air and approached him. Roughly, she seized his face, her nails digging into his cheek where the letter 'W' was seared into his skin like a brand. But it was her next words that made Hermione silently swear she'd see the day Ginevra Weasley suffered a slow, painful death.</p><p>"Breathe easy while you can, you Light-loving louse," she purred as Draco's again-lifeless eyes winced and blinked rapidly. He squeezed them shut, choking in a ragged breath through paralyzed lips. She tutted. "Afraid, are you? Stupid fusty. You shouldn't be - <em>she</em> won't be able to do you real damage. But I will." A pitiless smile stretched across her face. "Enjoy this. It's the only relief you'll be having anytime soon."</p><p>Hermione gripped her wand so tightly she feared the possibility it might snap in two. <em>We'll see about that, you monstrous <strong>bitch.</strong></em></p><p>Ginevra stepped back from Draco and gave Hermione a nod. "Go on, then, My. You can't miss him if he's at eye level - at least, one would assume." She smirked wickedly. "Let's see if Lupin's come up with a technique even My Evans can master."</p><p>Hermione shot her a murderously snide expression before focusing back on Draco. All thoughts of acting any assumed role dissolved as his gray eyes locked on hers, again incredibly open, glittering with a thousand emotions that Hermione couldn't even begin to name, except for one.</p><p>Pleading.</p><p>As if he'd realized exactly what she was thinking and was begging her to actually go through with it.</p><p>Which was wrong. That the <em>Cruciatus Curse</em> could be considered a relief from far greater suffering was <em>so terribly wrong.</em></p><p>She stiffly raised her wand, staring at its tip if only not to look at him. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself mentally, slowly releasing her careful cap on the fury and frustration and <em>hatred</em> she felt toward Ginevra and Ronáld Weasley and all this world for what it was doing to defenseless, innocent <em>living beings.</em></p><p>She didn't just want to cause Draco pain. She wanted to cause him <em>so much pain so quickly</em> that he passed out immediately.</p><p><em>'Believe me, Hermione,' </em>she heard his voice whisper through her mind from their conversation weeks earlier, '<em>it may be the greatest kindness you can ever do them.'</em></p><p>In less than a blink, she shifted her gaze back to Draco and flung the tip of her wand at his chest.</p><p>
  <em>"CRUCIO!"</em>
</p><p>The sound of the spell smashing into him literally echoed through the stone classroom; it blew through Ginevra's suspension charm in the same resounding <em>crack,</em> and Hermione hardly had a chance to frantically cast a subtle, nonverbal cushioning charm at the wall behind him and ground below before he slammed into both, landing in a heap.</p><p>She warily lowered her wand, continuing to clench it to keep her hand from shaking. Quickly, she scanned his face. His eyes were closed, his body limp.</p><p>She prayed she hadn't damaged any more of his skeletal system than everyone else already had.</p><p>Ginevra looked between Hermione and Draco, her mouth partially agape. "What in the name of Godric was that?"</p><p>Hermione opened her eyes wide. "Did I do it wrong?"</p><p>"No, you bloody well didn't. But you certainly put a wrench in my plans," Ginevra snapped. She walked over to Draco and prodded him with her boot as if he was nothing more than an inanimate object, then shot the equivalent of a renervating spell into him. Even that didn't rouse him, and Hermione silently sighed in relief.</p><p>Ginevra turned toward her, her eyebrows narrowed. "Bollocks, My. Retaking the Dark Arts is obviously paying off."</p><p>Hermione scoffed, studying her nails. "Not especially. You know I just can't stand him. So backward. So <em>annoying." </em></p><p>"Yes, that's perfectly clear." Ginevra swept her hand at Draco and he disappeared; back into the wall, Hermione assumed, or at least desperately hoped. "Finish that tomorrow, then. Scrotal Snape it is." She scowled as they exited the classroom, her eyes glittering with vexation. "I'd almost rather shag a Slytherin than experience an hour of agony with that slippery slug and a cauldron."</p><p>Her idea of what constituted 'agony,' given the circumstances, was horrifically ironic. Had Hermione been as cold-blooded as the world around her, she would have humorously pointed out that Snape <em>was </em>a Slytherin. But as it was, she'd almost rather curse a Gryffindor through the heart.</p><hr/><p>After Ginevra had headed toward the dungeons, grousing all the while, Hermione muttered several Disillusionment and Shielding charms around her and slid down the the hallway wall to the floor. Pulling her knees to her chest, she gulped in deep breaths, desperately trying to clear her mind of what had just transpired.</p><p>Ginevra was <em>seventeen years old.</em> Yes, Hermione had seen with her own eyes the type of 'training' involved in learning the Dark Arts, had heard the dark humor and selfish, aggressive comments the students around her typically made, had witnessed every Seventh and Eighth Year Gryffindor male laughing over Draco's suffering in the common room. But was <em>no one</em> in the Sovereignty concerned that so many of these children - and now, like Ginevra, adults - were speaking and acting like unrepentant sociopaths - potentially unrepentant killers?</p><p>And Draco... What Draco had endured, <em>was</em> enduring, and there was <em>nothing she could do</em>...</p><p>Before she realized it, a muffled whimper passed her lips. She quickly covered her mouth and then placed a silencing charm on herself, reminding herself to breathe, breathe, <em>breathe. </em></p><p>How much longer could she continue this? Witnessing such - such barbaric acts of savagery and being unable - unwilling - <em>terrified</em> to stand up to them? Who was this person she'd become? Not only had everyone else around her become complete strangers, but so had <em>she...</em> and that, possibly, was the most terrifying part of all.</p><p>The speed of her breaths unintentionally doubled; clenching her hands, she tilted back her head and screamed with all the repressed misery and rage inside her.</p><p>The silenced sound still echoed wildly through her mind, joining the memory of Draco's gray eyes boring into hers, pleading for mercy, pleading for death. That she'd been able to grant one with a curse used for the other seemed like no form of mercy at all.</p><p>Ginevra's comment about "finishing this tomorrow" hadn't escaped her, either. Hermione had thought she'd seen how bad things could get for Draco, but it appeared Peia was right yet again: perhaps she truly hadn't.</p><p>She shoved her forehead into her palms, so <em>tired</em> of this - of fighting, of losing, of <em>everything</em> - but even that couldn't block a scene from days earlier from determinedly cycling through her mind, when she'd arrived at Draco's common room cage to find him in a troubled sleep.</p><p>When she'd tried to rouse him, he'd awoken with a start and a hollow scream. But then he'd seen her and gone still; even his very breathing seemed to stop. Hermione had sat, frozen, as he silently gazed at her - differently, somehow, than he had any other time before, as if he wasn't lucid or fully conscious.</p><p>For a split second, she'd feared whatever had been done to him last had finally been cause for him to lose his mind, like Neville's parents had in her universe. But then, slowly, he'd lifted shaking fingers toward the bars and croaked, "How... How are you... <em>here?" </em></p><p>As if, in his exhaustion, the very existence of someone besides his cousin who might help him was shocking to him, and even the continuity of her presence was worthy of doubt.</p><p>How much longer could he carry on without physically and mentally breaking entirely?</p><p>Yet again, Hermione at once hated herself and the smothering immensity of the terrifying Dark Arts machine the Sovereignty was that was keeping her hands tied. She knew she had to get Draco out of there, and for his sake she needed to do it quickly, oh <em>Merlin,</em> so quickly. She just<em> didn't know how, </em>and her inability to find or rationalize a solution to one of the most horrific situations she'd ever faced infuriated her more than she could say.</p><p>Tears blurring her vision, Hermione gripped a handful of hair and stared despairingly in front of her. As the moments passed, her attention was invariably drawn to the vampire statue farther down the hallway. She gazed at it blankly, then blinked back the wetness at her eyes and stood abruptly.</p><p>She might not be able to help the son. But perhaps she could help the father. <strong><br/></strong></p><hr/><p>Hermione whispered the password that McGonagall had used to close the statue so many weeks ago, her Invisibility Cloak wrapped securely around her. With a low grinding noise and slow movement, it grated open, revealing a curled, dimly-lit staircase leading into the castle's bowels.</p><p>She descended them cautiously, gripping her wand... and stopped in surprise the moment she reached the base. She was standing in a dark, cave-like stone chamber no larger than her own living quarters, sparsely lit with only two torches. A white, chalky line extended down the length of the chamber, essentially partitioning it into two halves. The half closest to her held some metal chairs and gnarly devices, the uses for which she'd rather not consider.</p><p>On the other half of the room was indeed Lucius Malfoy, curled on a metal bed set into one side of the wall, wearing the same bedraggled gray prisoner's garb as the other House-Witches and Wizards had. A few books were scattered on the ground near him, but from his unkempt state, it was obvious he had been held prisoner here for a very long time. Tired lines were etched into his face, extremely long, somewhat wild platinum hair falling into his eyes and down his back. He didn't give any indication he'd heard the staircase open, though he must have - it hadn't exactly been quiet.</p><p>Suddenly, a sharp motion to her right caught her attention. Her gaze jerked toward it - and froze.</p><p>Inexplicably, a Muggle video camera was floating in the upper corner of the room, pointing directly at Malfoy.</p><p>It was slowly sweeping her way.</p><p>Her stomach lurched in panic. A moment before the camera smoothly finished its turn in her direction, she dove back into the safety of the spiral staircase, her heart pounding. My hadn't felt the need to enrol in a Muggle Studies class, so Hermione wasn't familiar with the specifics of the engineering involved with magically-altered Muggle devices, but surely this was one of them: No doubt it would have the ability to detect not only magic, but possibly even a human presence, Invisibility Cloak or not.</p><p>Heart racing, she barreled up the stairs and into the hallway -</p><p>"Oof!" she gasped, colliding hard with something very solid. Something that grabbed her Invisibility Cloak and pulled.</p><p>Before Hermione could react, she found herself staring up at Harry Evans' hard face.<strong><br/></strong></p><p>
  <em>Bloody Morgana.</em>
</p><p>Both of them reacted quickly; she lifted her wand to Obliviate him, but he drew his just as quickly.</p><p>"What d'you think you're doing, Granger?" he asked in a quiet, threatening voice as the Vampire statue scraped shut.</p><p>"I could ask you the same thing, <em>Evans,"</em> Hermione said, trying to sound arrogant instead of alarmed.</p><p>His glower deepened. "Innocently strolling though a hallway doesn't quite equate the same crime as emerging from illicit passageways."</p><p>Hermione could have built a solid case against several holes in that argument, but she doubted My had that logical ability, so she instead hardened her gaze and didn't hesitate to fall back on the vague but powerful blackmail My held over him. "If you even <em>think</em> of reporting me for whatever mad thing you believe I did," she hissed, "I swear to you I'll follow up on what I promised, and you'll regret you ever opened your mouth."</p><p>His knuckles tightened around his wand. "You're bluffing."</p><p>She smiled saucily, that she even managed it a feat in itself. "Don't you wish I was." At his deadly expression, she laughed and waved her wand. "Go on, then. Bugger off."</p><p>For a moment, he didn't move at all; in fact, it appeared as if he was preparing to lunge at her.</p><p>"One day, Granger," he said in a low, deliberate voice, "I will kill you."</p><p>He sounded like he meant it with every inch of his enraged soul.</p><p>Ice shot straight through her chest. Damn, damn, <em>damn;</em> she desperately needed to Obliviate the past five minutes of his memory <em>right now</em>, but she simply rolled her eyes, feeling as if she were waving a red flag before a bull. "Empty words. Hate to break it to you, <em>brother</em>, but you need a new hobby. Why don't you go somewhere else and find one?"</p><p>Hermione held her breath and waited for him to turn his back and leave, her wand gripped tightly at her side. But as if he expected the very thing she had planned, Harry backed up the entire length of the hallway with his wand still pointed at her. Once he reached the end of the corridor, he turned it and disappeared.</p><p>The instant he did, she plunged her hand into her skirt's waistband, where she kept a shrunken Marauders' Map. She couldn't let him walk away from this with that memory. Though her worn mind protested, fear and adrenaline powered her surge of energy.</p><p>She wasn't prepared to get caught, or murdered.</p><p>After a quick scan, Hermione spotted him without much effort, heading quite rapidly toward the Head Common Rooms. If she could cut past the Great Hall and get ahead of him before he reached the third floor, he'd never be able to defend himself from someone he didn't expect, let alone couldn't see.</p><p>Yes. She could do this.</p><p>She sprung to her feet and reached for her Invisibility Cloak, but it - Where was it?</p><p>Her heart jumped to her throat. Quickly, she felt around her shoulders, and searched the floor at her feet.</p><p>Her Invisibility Cloak - correction, Harry<em> Potter's </em>Invisibility Cloak - was gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Invisibility Cloak's disappearance - <em>theft -</em> had so thrown Hermione that she missed any chance of intercepting Harry before he reached their common room and the safety of his own quarters. So she did the only thing she could do: retreat until a better opportunity to erase his memory presented itself.</p><p>That they shared a common room was particularly helpful. But if he left under the protection of his own Invisibility Cloak, it'd be extremely difficult for her to strike him in transit.</p><p>She could only hope that it wouldn't be too late.</p><p>He must have been preparing to <em>enter</em> the passageway if he'd been so close to it when she exited, she deduced. And if he was one of the very few people privy to the fact that Lucius Malfoy was in fact alive - privy to his location, even… it meant that Harry Evans had suddenly become a much more dangerous enemy than a brooding man with a grudge.</p><p>She felt ill by the time she dragged herself into the Head Girl's quarters. Pansy was curled in a plush accent chair by the long set of windows lining the western wall, nibbling on the edge of her braid, book in hand. A few weeks earlier, Hermione had shown her the many highly useful academic volumes she'd kept in the knapsack during the Trio's campaign against Voldemort, then hidden them on a small shelf next to the window, disillusioning it in case anyone else entered the room. Pansy had diligently begun to go through the collection, even though, with the House-Witch bond, she couldn't actually practice any of the spells inside.</p><p>She gave Hermione a cursory glance in greeting, then looked up at her again and swiftly put down her book. "Hermione? What's the matter?"</p><p>Hermione simply shook her head and walked over to the bed, collapsing face forward onto it. Every muscle in her body felt heavy with exhaustion. She'd promised Draco that she'd save him from the Weasleys. She'd promised herself that she'd find a way home. But the more she learned, the more she saw that the first vow was presenting itself to have near-impenetrable barriers. And now, if Harry Evans turned her in to the Sovereignty…</p><p>She'd fail at both.</p><p>She felt the bed shift, as if Pansy had sat down on it nearby. A hand gently touched her shoulder. "Hermione?"</p><p>Hermione mentally cursed and reminded herself to go to the Room of Requirement if something like this happened again, so she could recover without having to maintain at least half an appearance of control, for Pansy's sake… the woman who had to rely on Hermione for her very survival.</p><p>She closed her eyes and took a breath, wrestling down her panic.</p><p>
  <em>Pull it together, Hermione. She's got it far worse than you do. </em>
</p><p>She steeled her nerves and her face, then pushed herself up. Moving to join Pansy at the edge of the bed, she said slowly, "We may have a… slight problem."</p><p>For a moment, Pansy's face fell - Hermione had learned that Pansy's expressive face was a clear gateway to her emotions, at least for the first several seconds during which she was feeling them - before she swallowed hard. "What is it?" she asked hesitantly.</p><p>Hermione pressed her lips together, her attention drawn out the window at breathtaking grounds on an unusually clear day… one of the few things that hadn't changed between worlds. "I needed to Obliviate someone and I missed my chance. But," she added more determinedly than she felt as Pansy's eyes widened in horror, "I'll get another opportunity soon."</p><p>"Who was it?"</p><p>Harry's cold wrath seared into her memory.</p><p>
  <em>One day, Granger, I will kill you.</em>
</p><p>Her stomach clenched and the hair rose along the back of her neck at the thought of his words. She suppressed a shiver, her gaze returning to the sinking sun. As much as she didn't want to give Harry Evans any sort of power over her, she couldn't deny that receiving a direct death threat was unnerving; she had no idea how Harry Potter had lived with one for years, and from a Dark Lord, no less.</p><p>"Harry Evans," she bit out, her jaw tight.</p><p>For a moment, Pansy was silent. <em>"Why?"</em> she burst out.</p><p>Hermione figured it'd be safe enough to share the details of this with her - both Pansy's and her fate were essentially entwined, now - so she quickly relayed discovering Lucius Malfoy under the vampire statue. As she retold her encounter with Harry, and how much Harry inexplicably seemed to despise her, she found herself growing increasingly convinced - and panicked - that this time, he wouldn't let any blackmail she held over him keep him from completely buggering her over at the first chance he got.</p><p>"-and if I don't get to him in time, I've no doubt he'll run off and bring our <em>mother</em> and the full force of the entire Sovereignty down over our heads, and there's no way I can fight that, Pansy. I need more<em> time."</em> Time to read enough books to learn what it was that sent her to this cursed world in the first place and then get herself back where she was meant to be as quickly as possible.</p><p>That was it - <em>she just needed to buy some time. </em></p><p>Survival surged through her veins. "Right. If he does retaliate, we can take the tunnels out of Hogwarts. At least one of them must still be open. Once we get to Hogsmeade-"</p><p>"Let me talk to him," Pansy said suddenly.</p><p>"-we can Apparate to…"</p><p>Hermione's monologue lurched to a stop. She blinked, backpedaling to process Pansy's interruption, and swiveled her head toward her. <em>"What?"</em></p><p>Pansy's blue eyes widened, as if she herself was astonished at her own words. Quickly, she looked down at her lap, clasping her hands together tightly. "I-I mean, I… You'll... let me, won't you?"</p><p>Hermione stared at her in bewilderment. <em>"Why?"</em> At the multiple ways that could have been interpreted, she hastily added, "...would you want to, I mean?"</p><p>Determination suddenly crossed Pansy's face, the expression one Hermione had never seen the usually reticent woman wear. "Just let me talk to him. I might be able to - well - to fix it."</p><p>Hermione didn't see how that was at all possible, and a state of total confusion was one she was never pleased to occupy. Harry Evans was on an entirely different level of violence and personal issues. Pansy didn't even have magic to protect herself.</p><p>"Listen," she said cautiously, "I know you have just as much of a stake in all of this as I do, but that's really not a good idea."</p><p>Pansy bit her lip, but her eyes were wide and earnest. "Hermione, please, just - trust me."</p><p>Universe B Pansy often seemed more than a bit ingenuous, but her quiet strength, which occasionally bubbled to the surface, would usually be enough to remind Hermione that the witch wasn't as naive as she seemed. Now, though, she was beginning to seriously question that assumption. "Not until I know how you expect to 'fix it,' Pansy!"</p><p>Pansy just continued to stare at her pleadingly, anxiety scrawled across every inch of her face.</p><p>A very faint, sneaking suspicion began to tug at the back of Hermione's mind.</p><p>She frowned against it. No. <em>That</em> was certainly impossible. There was no evidence for it.</p><p>Except for the normally-timid Pansy suddenly begging to talk to Harry as though she thought she had a real chance to solve all of this. And Harry hating - not disliking, <em>hating -</em> My Granger with every breath in his body for something that had happened in the past few years.</p><p>And My having some unknown but all-powerful "blackmail" over Harry.</p><p>What if that blackmail wasn't something… but someone?</p><p><em>Still impossible,</em> another part of her argued - other evidence in the form of everything she had ever seen of Harry Evans left her utterly unconvinced he had a shard of emotion in him, except for a murderous impulse to kill <em>her </em>and ignore everyone else.</p><p>Hermione closed her eyes, but the all-too-strong temptation to follow her instincts and better judgement lost regardless to the basic principle that she couldn't - wouldn't - let herself control Pansy's free will.</p><p>She let out a long breath.</p><p>"Alright," she said reluctantly, and the tension in Pansy's stiff shoulders suddenly sank. "But I'm coming with you," she added in case her new - and <em>highly implausible - </em>theory was incorrect. She pulled out her wand to emphasize this point.</p><p>The dark-haired woman smiled waveringly. "You have to. I can't walk through the door if you don't."</p><p>When Pansy took a deep breath and stood, Hermione took it to mean they were going <em>now</em>.</p><hr/><p>Wand at the ready, Harry Evans stepped into the Head common room as cautiously as a panther stalking its as-yet-unseen prey. After he found My Granger - he refused to think of her as an Evans - emerging from Lucius Malfoy's holding pen wearing a bleeding <em>Invisibility Cloak </em>and prepared to strike first, he knew he had to be cautious, that she could be a bigger threat than he realized.</p><p>But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes.</p><p>My Granger and Pansy Parkinson were standing at the foot of the staircase leading up to his bedroom. Pansy had already begun to climb them, her hand on the railing a few steps up. Granger wasn't far behind.</p><p>He froze, every muscle in his body tightening. He must have made some kind of noise, however, because they spun toward him - only to freeze as well.</p><p>And for a minute… or maybe ten… all Harry could see was her face, her wide eyes boring into his.</p><p>No. This wasn't happening. Not again.</p><p>"Harry," she whispered.</p><p>He moved to cut her off before the sound of her voice could manifest the dread that threatened to overtake him, and leveled a deadly gaze on the woman standing below her.</p><p>"Don't you <em>dare</em> think you can intimidate me, Granger. There's nothing for it. I couldn't give less of a damn," he hissed, taking a step toward the stairs and lowering his his wand on her.</p><p>Before he reached them, Pansy rushed down the steps, her casually dressed form weaving alongside Granger's excessively tight uniformed one. "No, Harry, please. Listen to me." As if approaching a wild beast, she cautiously held out a hand. "This isn't like before. This is different."</p><p>As <em>if;</em> there was no bloody way he was about to believe those words hadn't been Ordered.</p><p>"I don't care what you have to say," he said coldly, resolutely ignoring her. "In fact, I don't care what happens to you at all."</p><p>Granger looked between them, a calculating, almost knowing expression on her face that made him grip his wand more tightly. In his long and twisted relationship with her, Granger hadn't been an idiot… not when it came to this. Mentally, he prepared himself to strike, in spite of his mentor's words in his head telling him to be<em> cautious, </em>to find out more, to play her game and bide his time.</p><p>That had been long before he'd known Granger was going to make good on her threat after all.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed Pansy turn toward Granger and shoot her a very pointed, pleading look, her gaze visibly defeated. The desperation and emotion in that single action lit something inside him he didn't know he still possessed.</p><p>In a heartbeat, his fury had boiled over. At least one thing he'd said was true - He just <em>didn't care anymore.</em></p><p>"Get ready for hell, Granger," he hissed. "That's exactly where you're headed next." As Granger's eyes widened, he flung his wand at her face with every ounce of hatred he had.</p><p>Pansy started. "Harry, no!"</p><p>
  <em>"Reducto!" </em>
</p><p>The spell hadn't even fully left his lips when Granger, shockingly, brandished her wand with the adroitness of a Quidditch star. A shimmering blue haze exploded out around both her and Pansy; the red light from his wand ricocheted off it into a chair, violently splintering the entire thing apart.</p><p><em>"Expelliarmus!"</em> she shouted before the unexpected shield had even faded, ripping his wand from his hand.</p><p>A thick silence again descended upon the common room. Granger stepped back and stared at him evenly, holding his wand.</p><p>Harry's mind reeled.</p><p><em>My Granger</em> had just conjured a powerful, nonverbal Shield Charm and disarmed him in the same breath. The majority of Sovereignty officials he knew couldn't even perform that spell <em>correctly,</em> let alone silently.</p><p>Ergo, there was no bloody way this was My Granger.</p><p>Despite his now-distinct disadvantage, Harry lifted his shoulders and advanced on her with all the authority his birth had bestowed upon him. "Do you know who I am, <em>fool?" </em>he spat. "If you're a Sovereignty agent, reveal yourself now. As Viceroy Evans' son, I order you to tell me immediately or face punitive action for your attack!"</p><p>Pansy and Granger exchanged another expression he didn't like one bit. His jaw tightened. <em>"Tell me!"</em></p><p>"I'm not an agent," Granger said quickly.</p><p>He stepped right up to her, irregardless of who held both weapons. "What are you, then?"</p><p>She took a swift step backward up the stairs, her wand partially raised. "Perhaps if you'd actually listened to what Pansy was trying to tell you, you'd already have your answer."</p><p>He let out a snarl. "Lies you've fed her, you mean!" He grabbed the railing to launch himself up the stairs, and would have physically lunged at her then and there, had Pansy not suddenly shoved herself between them.</p><p>"Stop it! Both of you, just stop!"</p><p>Harry froze.</p><p>She turned toward him, intently staring up at his face. He could <em>smell </em>her from here, a combination of honeysuckle and jasmine, and <em>this was not happening.</em></p><p>He set his jaw, wrestling in an unaccustomed rush of emotions before he could say or do something else that was inherently stupid and - and bloody <em>Slytherin-like</em>. But her suddenly determined gaze was unavoidable.</p><p>"Now, you need to listen to me, Harry Evans," she said firmly, her quiet voice gentle in spite of it. "You were right before - she isn't My. I can explain everything, but I - I don't want you to think it isn't true." She searched his face, her eyes abruptly glistening. "What can I do or say so you'll know she hasn't Ordered me?"</p><p>He gripped the banister, staring hard at the ground rather than at her. Between the time he'd stepped in the portrait hole and now, the world had turned on its head, and he suddenly had no bleeding idea which way was up or down or where or how to step without crashing to earth.</p><p>Steeling himself, he looked up at Granger - who'd remained shockingly quiet behind them - his eyes expressionless. "Give me her lead."</p><p>She and Pansy again looked at each other. His throat tightened. All their exchanged glances made him uneasy - was Pansy looking to Granger for direction? Orders?</p><p>But when Granger spoke, the word directed at Pansy, she oddly sounded as though <em>she</em> needed direction. "What's…?"</p><p>"The ruby bracelet. In the M box."</p><p>Granger's eyebrows raised, but she nodded shortly. Her eyes flicked over at him warily before she descended the stairs past him, her wand - and his - still gripped in her hand. He automatically tensed as she hurriedly brushed by and crossed the common room, until a light, cool pressure on the top of his hand caused his entire arm to jerk.</p><p>He stared down at Pansy's hand on his, then up at her face, which, despite everything that had happened and the time that had passed, still looked exactly the same. "Harry," she breathed, wrapping her hand fully around his.</p><p>Suddenly, he realized what was happening and yanked away his hand. <em>"No."</em></p><p>So much pain filled her eyes that he had to look away. "You mean - You don't…?"</p><p>He whirled back toward her. "Of course I do!" he said tightly. "But if—"</p><p>He stopped speaking as My reappeared, practically racing down the steps. When she neared him, though, she slowed, approaching cautiously. She stopped several feet away and looked at Pansy. "You're sure about this."</p><p>When Pansy nodded, she sighed and held a thin red and gold bracelet out to Harry.</p><p>He had never been quite so astonished in all his life.</p><p>Numbly, he reached out and took it, but she continued to hold the top of the chain tightly. "Don't make me regret this."</p><p>Harry hadn't the slightest idea what <em>that</em> meant, so he simply scowled at her.</p><p>After a moment, she released it, holding up her hands. She looked extremely uncomfortable. "Alright, well, I'll just… I'll give you both some time, then."</p><p>And Granger actually left them together and walked away across the common room. Casually, she tilted her wand to shoot a jet of yellow light into the armchair that Harry's Reductor Curse had destroyed. She didn't give it a second glance to see the results as she continued on, but the splintered pieces swiftly reassembled themselves into a perfect match of what it had once been, as though the near-duel had never occurred.</p><p>For a man who prided himself in his ability to cover his emotions - well, except when he was furious - Harry couldn't keep his lips from parting slightly, dumbfounded, as she disappeared into her quarters. No explanation he'd come up with - and there'd been plenty - now seemed able to make absolutely any sense of anything at all.</p><p>"She's something, isn't she?" Pansy suddenly said quietly from his side.</p><p>He shut his mouth quickly and looked back at her. He'd thought about this moment more times than he could count, and had many more times forced himself to stop longing for what he objectively knew would surely never materialize. But now that it was actually here, he had no idea what to say, or do.</p><p>He only knew that every nerve in his body was suddenly buzzing as though he'd been <em>Renervated </em>while still conscious<em>.</em></p><p>As if she sensed this - of course she did - she took the bracelet still hanging limply from his hand and closed his fingers around it. "Order me to tell you the truth."</p><p>His jaw tightened at the idea of Ordering her to do anything. But her hand, warm on his, clouded his ability to clearly rationalize a logical explanation or an appropriate course of action for the baffling turn of events.</p><p><em>"Pansy-" </em>he gritted out.</p><p>"No. Please, Harry. It's alright. I want you to."</p><p>He had not felt this level of an emotion that was not hate or bitterness or no emotion at all since the war had ended, and he fought to contain it with every breath he had. "Tell me the truth," he finally said tonelessly.</p><p>She spoke immediately, her voice as reassuring as it had ever been. "I'm safe with My now. But she isn't My Granger anymore."</p><p>His attention was drawn to her swiftly. "She's Sovereignty?" he asked in a low voice, his brows narrowed.</p><p>Pansy shook her head. "No."</p><p>"Conservative?"</p><p>"Not quite."</p><p>He blinked. "Well, what <em>is</em> she?"</p><p>Pansy paused at that. "She's a friend; she's… well, there's an awful lot to say."</p><p>She sighed, then focused up on his face so intently he squeezed his eyes shut to ward off the force of her gaze. He still couldn't bring himself to accept that this wasn't a trick, that she was <em>real, </em>that this was anything other than some mad dream or ruse from which he would soon be rudely awakened. When her hands reached up to tenderly cradle both sides of his face, the air rushed from his lungs, and he began to breathe rapidly.</p><p>"Harry? Harry, look at me. Please?"</p><p>He steeled himself before he reopened his eyes, setting his jaw and his expression in a hard line.</p><p>Pansy gazed at him, her eyes shining with tears. Slowly, she stroked her thumbs over his cheeks before she whispered, "I have missed you more than life itself."</p><p>In a rush of pure emotion, his solemn expression shattered. He desperately searched her face, drinking in her every feature that he had forced himself to picture over and over again, so in all the days of his life he would never forget - the creamy curve of her neck where it met her shoulders, the smooth wisps of hair that had escaped her braid and now framed her beautiful face, the nearly-hidden dusting of freckles across her pale nose and cheeks, the way her nose wrinkled slightly whenever she laughed, the eternal glow of kindness in her clear blue eyes.</p><p>With a shaking hand, he reached out to touch her if only to reassure himself that she was really <em>there</em>, pushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear before entangling his fingers in the soft, smooth tresses. He forced himself to breathe, and inhaled the scent of spring.</p><p>"So have I," he croaked.</p><p>They kissed.</p><p>And nothing else in the last two miserable years of Harry Evans' life had ever felt more like the truth.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would be really curious to know what you all think of this twist! :) Did you see this pairing coming?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Questions and Answers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun sank closer to the horizon, and Pansy did not return. Though Hermione had strongly suspected after seeing their limited interaction, she had listened with an extendable ear long enough to know that the girl was as safe as she would ever be… and with Harry Evans, no less. A part of her still couldn't believe such a match was possible - though the roles were reversed, Harry and Pansy's personalities were the equivalent of a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff falling in love in her world, and Merlin knew the rarity of <em>that </em>- but what she had witnessed with her own eyes confirmed it.</p><p>She hoped this meant his death threat from that afternoon would be lifted.</p><p>But many questions still remained unanswered. Harry was clearly still walking free, so did this mean he was a Conservative spy? Would he really reject his seemingly plush life as son of Dumbledore's second-in-command for love? Pansy clearly trusted him with the knowledge of who Hermione was (or, more accurately, who she wasn't), but was he truly trustworthy? Or was his loyalty simply to Pansy?</p><p>Hermione sighed. The only thing she could do was wait to hear the answer from Pansy herself. She had just begun to systematically examine her Universe A knapsack storehouse of random Wheezes/war supplies to see if she may have missed<em> anything, </em>anything at all, that could aid her in Draco's rescue (any time not spent searching for answers was time ill spent) when the Slytherin finally reappeared.</p><p>"Hermione? Can you…?"</p><p>Hermione looked up quickly to find a visibly flushed Pansy standing just outside the partially-closed door, her now-loose hair falling, tousled, past her shoulders. She looked exactly like Angelina Johnson did whenever she and George Weasley had re-emerged from the stacks, and Hermione fought to hold back a still-incredulous expression. "Er - I've something I'd like you try, actually." She quickly replaced several jars of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder before fully focusing on Pansy. "Why don't you go ahead and walk yourself through?"</p><p>Pansy's brows knitted in confusion. "But… you know what happens."</p><p>"Just give it a go. Please."</p><p>Frowning, Pansy nodded and took a cautious step forward. As soon as she reached the doorframe, she was flung backward a few steps.</p><p>Hermione let out a frustrated grumble. "Sorry. I was hoping that would work. The other option's far more complicated. Hang on a bit." She glanced to her side, flipping through the pages of the open book of Ancient Runes on the long windowseat beside her. She ran her fingers down a page, muttering to herself, before she stood and approached the door, studying it calculatingly. It should work <em>in theory,</em> but she'd needed Pansy present to actually test it.</p><p>"What're you doing?"</p><p>"Trying to let you pass through the door unaided. Seeing as you might be wanting to make a few excursions to a different Head quarters now."</p><p>Pansy blushed, but after a moment her face fell. "That's, erm, well - That limitation's part of the <em>bond,</em> Hermione. I'm not certain that's something you can just undo."</p><p>"I'm not trying to undo it. I'm trying to get around it."</p><p>Kneeling on the ground, Hermione took a breath and produced a bottle of yarrow and mugwort from her robes pocket. She conjured a small dish, poured a handful of the herbs inside, and lit them. As they began to smolder, she pointed her wand at the side of the door… and a line of Elder Futhark runes began to trace themselves onto the wall. A minute later, she blew the smoke toward the runes, stood, and, narrowing her eyes in concentration, maneuvered her wand in an intricate motion before pointing it at the ancient text. <em>"Animantus scriptum." </em></p><p>Brilliant white light exploded from the runes, followed swiftly by a faint white glow that steadily spread across the wall like icing on a cake, running across the entire east side of the room until it sank into the floor.</p><p>Slowly, the runes faded back to a dull charcoal.</p><p>Hermione looked back at Pansy. "Alright. Try again?"</p><p>Pansy gave her a doubtful expression, but stepped forward…</p><p>Into the bedroom.</p><p>The uncertain clench at Hermione's gut released itself in a rush of relief and satisfaction.</p><p>The dark-haired woman's mouth dropped. "How on earth did you…?"</p><p>Hermione gestured up at the runes. "It's an Old Norse enchantment. <em>'Breathing fire from the sun, melt these walls into one; with the power of amity and affection twofold, make these rooms a whole and this house a home.'</em> The herbs act as an offering to anchor the spell."</p><p>When Pansy stared at her blankly, Hermione explained, "Runes hold the key to one of the most ancient forms of magic known to humankind. Legends have it Magic itself first dictated the Elder Futhark alphabet for people to find. But what most people <em>don't</em> know is that anyone with enough knowledge of Ancient Runes can actually bring them to life."</p><p>Pansy shook her head. "I'm sorry… what does that have to do with the bond?"</p><p>"You aren't allowed to walk from one room to another, right? So what I did is animate these runes." Hermione pointed at the lines of writing seared into the wall. "They in turn, well, melded these quarters and common room together at the level of the very field of Magic itself. So even though we still see walls, Magic recognizes the two rooms as one. So the restrictions of your bond haven't disappeared; they simply aren't applicable."</p><p>Pansy stared at her for several seconds before she blinked. "That's incredible," she breathed.</p><p>Hermione couldn't keep a small, pleased smile from touching her tips. "It's really quite useful, isn't it?"</p><p>"Did they teach you that in your universe?"</p><p>"Not to animate them, no. Dum— an old professor tipped me off about that. Most overlook the study of Ancient Runes; they consider them outdated and archaic. Often at their own peril, I've found." Hermione flicked her wand at the words to disillusion them, then looked over at Pansy apologetically. "Sorry, I've no idea why I didn't think to look into this before. I suppose with the whole world as mad as it is, I didn't expect there'd be anywhere else you'd want to go."</p><p>Pansy sighed, smiling halfheartedly. "I can't blame you for that assumption."</p><p>Hermione couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "Pansy, why didn't you tell me you two were - you know…" Well, she wasn't quite sure what they were, but at the thought of all the complications that could have been avoided if she <em>had</em> known, she shoved a hand through her hair. "Merlin. I would have let you see him ages ago!"</p><p>"I'm sorry, Hermione, I should have, I know, I just…" Pansy scuffed at the floor. "I still wasn't quite sure. About you, I mean. No one - <em>none</em> of them knew about me and Harry. If they found out… Well, I just couldn't take the chance that that you weren't…"</p><p>Hermione held up a hand. "Say no more; I suppose I can't say I wouldn't have thought the same." In fact, she was honestly surprised Pansy had shared it with her at all, and she wondered what had changed her opinion. She hesitated. "Are you and he - are you - ?"</p><p>Luckily, Pansy was able to interpret her helpless gesture. "We were." She sank down onto the armrest of the sofa near the door, clasping her hands in her lap. "My found out, right near the very end of the war. But we were so careful, Hermione; I've no idea how she…" She briefly closed her eyes and shook her head. "She bought me, used it to blackmail Harry to do all sorts of things for her rather than telling his mum right off. Threatened my life if he ever tried to do anything to her, or to help me."</p><p>Bloody Morgana. No <em>wonder</em> Harry had hated her.</p><p>On that note, Hermione took the opening to voice the thought that had been on the tip of her tongue since before Pansy had even returned.</p><p>"So he's… on your side? Our side?" she asked cautiously.</p><p>Pansy nodded. "He is. He's… He's, well… Oh, I've no way of saying this without sounding conceited!"</p><p>"He's on whatever side you're on?" she guessed.</p><p>The other woman sighed and gave her a grateful expression. "That's what he's always told the few who knew. He's never given me any reason not to believe him. With Harry being… who he is, he and Tom - Tom Riddle - felt the best use for him would be as a spy, to feed our side information."</p><p>Hermione couldn't say the information surprised her. While it was true that Harry had seemed to especially hate My, he didn't seem to like <em>anyone</em>. Or anyone who was still around the school, that is. Hermione had no idea what caused him to dislike the Sovereignty so much in the first place, but if Pansy had offered his bleak world a ray of light, which, knowing the woman, Hermione suspected she had, it was almost hopelessly romantic that he'd actually forsaken everything he'd known to throw his loyalty behind it.</p><p>Her brows knitted together. "And when the war ended?"</p><p>Pansy shrugged. "He was never caught. Never even suspected, except for My. We haven't quite gotten to whether he's still… involved."</p><p>"If there's still anything and anyone to be involved <em>with," </em>Hermione pointed out. She regretted it instantly when the corners of Pansy's lips drooped slightly.</p><p>"Right," Pansy said quietly. She gave another heavy sigh. "Anyway, I explained everything about you to him."</p><p>At her new friend's clear dejection, Hermione, to her surprise, found herself reaching for a page from Draco's book. "Really? Seemed to me there wouldn't be much talking happening tonight," she said teasingly.</p><p>Pansy blushed. "I mean - well - yes. There was that. But then I told him."</p><p>As fast as it had appeared, Hermione felt her momentary lightness fade. "And he believed you?"</p><p>"I told him the Ordered truth. But you have to admit, it's all still rather incredible. Even the truth's going to be a bit hard for people to swallow." She bit her lip. "I think he… might still have some questions for you, actually. Perhaps we could all talk about them?"</p><p>Hermione frowned. She certainly had questions for him as well, but didn't feel particularly enthusiastic about having another Reductor Curse fired at her chest. "As long as he swears he won't try to kill me."</p><p>The dark-haired woman gave her a small, reassuring smile and stood. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he doesn't." After a momentary pause and an expression of disbelief toward the now-invisible runes, she disappeared back out the door. "Oh, erm—" she briefly ducked her head back inside, "be right back."</p><p>As soon as she left, Hermione sighed heavily and began to pace. She still remembered Harry's eyes burning into her, and didn't feel like taking his arrival sitting down.</p><p>As she neared her windows, she paused, staring off into the twilight at the large, barn-like structure she could just make out in the distance. It was called the Hangar, she knew, but beyond that, she hadn't had the opportunity to wander the Hogwarts grounds to explore it. (Pansy had told her that My hated spending time outdoors, except for sunbathing.)</p><p>She'd been tempted to visit it under the Invisibility Cloak at first, but then she'd learned from Ronáld's lunchtime bragging that the building was used for the Hunting and Trapping of Magical Creatures. The thought of such a barbaric class alone disgusted her, but more than she was afraid of what she'd find inside…</p><p>She was afraid that she wouldn't be able to do a single thing about it.</p><p>Not only would any action probably amount to very little damage in the grand scheme of things, it would jeopardize her chances of ever getting home.</p><p>And she hated, hated feeling so bloody <em>helpless </em>against such evil.</p><p>The sound of footsteps caused her to turn quickly. First Pansy, and then Harry entered her large Head quarters. Harry stared sharply between Pansy and Hermione's doorframe, until Pansy reached over to grab his hand, grinning. "We'll explain; don't worry."</p><p>She pulled him over to the sofa along the wall nearest the door and sat down. Harry continued to stand, his arms crossed, openly studying Hermione with narrowed eyes. Despite Pansy's reassurances, Hermione studied him just as cautiously. His scowling, self-assured frame screamed aristocratic confidence. Apparently, besides raging fury, he was an expert at shuttering his emotions.</p><p>He was so unlike the Harry Potter of her world.</p><p>The thought of her closest friend made her heart ache.</p><p>"I'd like my wand returned," Harry Evans finally said coolly.</p><p>"Do you plan to murder me with it?" she rejoined swiftly.</p><p>"If your - <em>story -</em> holds… no."</p><p>Though her own self-preservation instinct squirmed, Hermione reluctantly produced his wand and gingerly held it out to him. He cautiously snatched it from her hand, eyed her chambers, and cagily sat beside Pansy. She immediately smiled at him and interlaced her fingers with his, and for the briefest moments…</p><p>Harry's eyes and entire features softened to resemble the Harry that Hermione knew so well.</p><p>The action did something to solidify his allegiance in her mind enough to make Heremione relax slightly, enough to sit on the edge of the bed across from the couple. When Harry's gaze returned to her, however, his eyes hardened. He tilted his head at her calculatingly, leaning forward.</p><p>"Why don't you start by telling us exactly who you are," he said in a tone that left no room for disagreement.</p><p>Her brows tightened slightly in confusion. She glanced at Pansy. "I thought you—"</p><p>"Oh, she did," Harry interrupted. "The things <em>you've</em> told her. Doesn't make it the truth, does it? You're seriously asking us to believe that you're from <em>another world? </em>Just conveniently shoved into My Granger's body? D'you think we're all as mental as you are?"</p><p>Hermione was suddenly very tired of having to prove herself, even though she supposed she really hadn't had to do it that often yet. He'd also brought up a point that frustrated her: For as much postulation as there was about alternate dimensions and realities, she hadn't found any theories on interstellar body snatching. She had assumed My Granger had similarly taken up occupancy in her body in Universe A, but she hadn't allowed herself to dwell too much on the ramifications of <em>that. </em></p><p>"It's isn't impossible," she pointed out. "There's plenty of theory on inter-dimensional travel."</p><p>"Well, it's not bloody well commonplace, either, is it?"</p><p>She briefly prayed for patience to whatever gods were listening and inhaled deeply, massaging her temples. Oh, she had a good idea of what she could pull out to make him believe her story, but she wasn't entirely eager for him to renege on his promise not to kill her. Finally, she sighed. There was nothing for it; it had to be done.</p><p>"Having trouble with your Marauders' Map lately?" she asked evenly.</p><p>Nothing changed except his eyes… and the glower in them darkened.</p><p><em>"What?"</em> he asked in a barely-restrained growl.</p><p>"The Marauders' Map. Handy thing. Lets you see the location of every person and passageway and room in Hogwarts. Created by a Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs - or, in more familiar terms, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and your father, James Potter. Impossible to access unless one solemnly swears they're up to no good. <em>That</em> Marauders' Map."</p><p>For a moment, Harry only stared at her. Then his right eye twitched. Aside from that minute reaction, he seemingly calmly turned his head to look at Pansy. She swiftly shook her head. "I didn't tell her; she knew exactly what it was the moment she brought it in."</p><p>He blinked. "Brought it <em>in?" </em>he echoed, his voice amplifying as he swiveled his head back toward Hermione.</p><p>She quickly held up her hands, sorely regretting that she'd ever returned his wand. "If I'd had any idea you weren't the enemy, I wouldn't have needed to, and I certainly wouldn't have used those vague threats of blackmail against you to keep you from Pansy!"</p><p>"What did you do to it?" he demanded.</p><p>The jewelry box on her bedside stand suddenly became very interesting. "I, er… may have saboteged it."</p><p>A reddish tinge began to spread across his face from his nose to his ears. "You<em> what?!"</em></p><p>"I can fix it, obviously!"</p><p>"'Obviously?' It isn't quite so obvious to some of us!"</p><p>Just then, Pansy put her right hand on his knee, stopping him mid-bellow. She soothingly began to massage it in circles, keeping her left hand firmly interlaced with his.</p><p>Harry briefly shut his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he spoke again, his voice sounded calmer, though only fractionally. "First, how in the bloody hell do you know anything about my map, and second, how in the bloody hell do you know enough about it to <em>sabotage</em> it?"</p><p>Hermione reached into the hem of her skirt and withdrew the Universe A Marauders' Map, tapping it with her wand to restore it to her normal size. She held it out to him. "Perhaps because I'm familiar with this."</p><p>He leaned forward and snatched it from her. "What the…" he muttered, flipping it over in his hands before pulling out his own version of the map. He compared them carefully, muttering a few spell diagnostic charms on both. "This can't be duplicated," he said, looking back up at her suspiciously. "<em>No one</em> can reproduce this map. What is this?"</p><p>"They <em>are</em> the Map - both of them." She gestured toward his left hand. "That one's from my world. The other one's from yours. That's the one I had to… modify because I couldn't have you seeing me running about the library." She crossed her arms. "<em>Now</em> do you believe I'm from an alternative universe?"</p><p>His eyes narrowed. "Why would there be another copy of the Marauders' Map in your universe?"</p><p>Hermione sighed. This was where the explanation became complicated, and, judging from their initial reactions, it wouldn't be any easier for them to swallow. "Because from what I can tell, my universe is a - a mirror of yours. Everything, everyone you see in this universe is also in mine. Except, well… like a reflection, many things here are almost the complete opposite of what they are in my world."</p><p>Pansy sat up abruptly. "What, do you mean… We're in your world? Or… versions of ourselves?"</p><p>Hermione glanced at her. "Yes."</p><p>Her mouth fell open. "I - Why didn't you tell me that?"</p><p>Hermione guessed the question was coming and groaned slightly, rubbing her face in her hands. "Believe me, it was already complicated enough as it was. I didn't want to have to try to explain <em>that."</em></p><p>Harry stared at her steadily. "So who are you in this other world, exactly? That would allow you to be so familiar with my map?" His expression soured to one of horror. "Ruddy hell, you aren't <em>me, </em>are you?"</p><p>She almost laughed at the idea. "No, no, definitely not. I'm, er…" She hesitated, unsure of why she was suddenly so nervous to reveal the truth. What if… What if they were disappointed? "I'm myself. Hermione Granger," she finally forced herself to say, though the words were as bizarre to speak as she knew they must be to hear.</p><p>Harry's eyebrows raised slightly before he snorted in disbelief. "You sure as hell aren't."</p><p>She shook her head. "I told you, you're all different in my world, and so am I. In my world, I'm not My, not Lady Evans. I'm just… Hermione. And I'm not some blithering idiot there; I'm - " She broke off quickly before she revealed too much. She'd provided enough information to overwhelm any normal human being as it was.</p><p>Pansy leaned toward her, her expression openly curious. "Do you know us, then - in your world? What are we like?"</p><p>"Well, you, erm - I didn't know you very well, actually," Hermione said, trying to choose her words tactfully. "You were in Slytherin, but you were sometimes a bit… unfriendly. You're a much lovelier person in this world, to be honest." She hesitated, then glanced over at Harry. "You… You were…"</p><p>Her throat closed. How could she adequately express just what he had been to her? Even at the bleakest moments during the war, even when Ron had left, it had still been the two of them; it had always been her and Harry. Because of Harry, and Ron, never in her life had she had to endure any undertaking alone. And because of their unbreakable bond with each other, they had managed to overcome the impossible, time and time again.</p><p>"You were my best friend," she finally managed to whisper, her voice hoarse.</p><p>
  <em>And I wish so badly you here were with me now so I wouldn't be fighting this all by myself.</em>
</p><p>He stiffened, his eyes subtly widening in alarm. "We weren't… <em>dating." </em></p><p>He sounded as if the very thought disgusted him.</p><p>"No! Of course not; a man and a woman can just be friends, you know," Hermione said defensively, crossing her arms to ward off the sting of those three words, of that irked reaction to a wholly sacred friendship. "Anyway, we both had, erm, other interests in that department. But that's why I know about the Marauders' Map."</p><p>He regarded her again, this time for longer than before. Under his cold gaze, she felt the need to tear herself from the conversation immediately. She was too strongly attached to a version of him that wasn't sitting in front of her, and hoping against hope for him to turn into Harry Potter when he surely never would was rekindling a suffocating ache in her chest that was too deep and unbearable for her to endure much longer.</p><p>"It happened on the train, didn't it," he said suddenly.</p><p>She tensed. "What happened?"</p><p>"This - switch. Or… whatever this is. When you 'fell.' "</p><p>Hermione struggled for a moment. "Yes."</p><p>He nodded to himself, his stormy eyes pensive. She wondered if he was ruling out Polyjuice Potion, the Imperius Curse and other personality-altering spells, since it had happened right before his eyes. "Listen, I know it sounds mad—"</p><p>"You're bleeding right it does. St. Mungo's Ward for the Mentally Insane mad, which is where I'd say you belong if you weren't actually doing some good."</p><p>Hermione opened her mouth to argue... and then closed it swiftly. "What?" she asked dumbly.</p><p>"Pansy told me what you're doing for Malfoy, what you've done for her. I don't know why you're risking your own neck, and you and I will be having a long discussion very soon about your ability to subvert a piece of highly technical magic the Sovereign himself created to let her walk into and out of this room. But you certainly aren't hurting the situation either."</p><p>After the intensity of the interrogation, she was astonished to near-speechlessness at his unexpected reasonableness.</p><p>"Erm… I'd hope not to," she said awkwardly, her arsenal of defensive arguments suddenly inapplicable.</p><p>A long silence ensued. Hermione was about to fall back on any excuse to leave the room when Pansy frowned and turned toward Harry. "Why <em>were</em> you by the entrance to where they're keeping Draco's father?"</p><p>Harry hesitated, unhappily glancing toward Hermione.</p><p>She held her breath. <em>She</em> wanted to hear this answer, too.</p><p>She couldn't have been more relieved when Pansy squeezed his fingers. "It's okay, Harry. I've been living with her for a month. If it's up to anyone to believe her story, it's me. We have to give trust in order to get it, don't we?"</p><p>For a man who deflected Ginevra Weasley's constant attention with the skill of a professional Beater, Harry Evans apparently could not turn down a single request from Pansy Parkinson.<em> Harry'd throw a fit if he had the slightest idea, </em>Hermione thought with some amusement and another wave of homesickness… though this Pansy was, of course, a vast improvement over the Pansy that Harry Potter knew.</p><p>"You and I both know it's possible to trust too much," he said to Pansy so quietly Hermione almost didn't hear it.</p><p>Pansy shook her head. "Not when we need help and there isn't anyone left," she murmured back just as softy.</p><p>He visibly sighed, his lips pressed together tightly. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly louder, though it was clear he was mostly addressing Pansy rather than her. "I've been… helping him. Not - much, but… they keep him on strict rations. I'd bring him extra food, water under my Cloak, when I could. Keep his strength up." He shot Hermione a dark look. "Or, at least, I did until my map began to <em>malfunction."</em></p><p>Hermione shifted under his scathing gaze, but she refused to feel intimidated or guilty. "What about the cameras?"</p><p>"My Invisibility Cloak's different than most. The cameras can't see through it. We have an… unspoken agreement. I disillusion the food and place it near him; he's careful about how he eats it so it won't be obvious to anyone watching. I never make contact with him directly, in case it comes up during his interrogations."</p><p>Pansy's eyes were wide. "But why did they tell everyone - Draco, his mum - that he's dead? And why keep him right here, at the school? Has he been here the whole time?"</p><p>Harry hesitated for several moments before he spoke. When he did, Hermione could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "Supposedly Lucius Malfoy… knows something. The problem is he had his memory wiped completely before they got to him. Some professors here have been researching various methods to extract his memories since then, so they needed him…" For a moment, he looked away from Pansy before ending vaguely, "closer."</p><p>Even at his ambiguity, Hermione instantly felt sick. She could only imagine how powerful an Obliviation charm must have been used on Malfoy if the memories couldn't even be extracted under years and years of whatever "methods" were being attempted. "What exactly did he know that they're so desperate to learn?"</p><p>Harry scowled. "What do I look like to you, a blasted walking encyclopedia? Not even I'm privy to that secret. You can go take it up with the Sovereign if you're interested; I'm sure he and my mother are the only two who know."</p><p>"Harry, darling, you're being awfully dramatic, aren't you?" Pansy said mildly.</p><p>The wheels of Hermione's mind had begun to turn. "It had to have been something incredibly important or they wouldn't've spent over a decade of time and energy trying to get it out of him." She could think of only two cases in which information would be that valuable: when it was key to someone or something's immortality… or their demise.</p><p>He gave her a long, measured look. "So you can understand why his breaking under interrogation is a concern."</p><p>
  <em>A concern for whom?</em>
</p><p>Before Hermione could voice that question, Pansy asked quietly, "Did you know about Draco's father when we were still…?"</p><p>She trailed off, but Harry seemed to know exactly what she meant. He hesitated, and that was enough of an answer to cause a hurt expression to blossom across her face. "Why didn't you tell me?"</p><p>Harry shook his head. "The security on him's too strong. It wasn't worth it, risking your getting hurt from yet another threat you could have done nothing about."</p><p>"But Draco at least deserved to know! It was his father, Harry!"</p><p>"Exactly. It was his father. And Malfoy would have done something reckless and foolishly heroic that could have put your life in danger and jeopardized everything else. No, Pansy; I couldn't have said anything."</p><p>If the situation weren't so serious, Hermione would have laughed at the absurdity of hearing <em>Harry </em>of all people criticizing <em>Draco Malfoy</em> for behaving recklessly and foolishly heroically, even if it was the Harry of Universe B.</p><p>Harry leaned toward Pansy, brushing some long bangs out of her eyes. Hermione had never seen so much open emotion, vulnerability even, on his face as that which appeared now. "Lucius Malfoy doesn't even remember his own name, Liv. Certainly not his son. How'd you think Draco would have felt if he found out about that?"</p><p>Though they were still on the sofa, the pair had turned toward each other completely. Hermione had clearly been entirely shut out of the conversation, and she felt like a voyeur watching an unfolding intimacy that even included a term of endearment, whatever "Liv" referred to.</p><p>She stood abruptly.</p><p>"I'll, er - I think I'll just go connect the other head quarters to the commons as well," she said awkwardly.</p><p>Neither Harry nor Pansy took any notice.</p><p>She had just finished repeating the ancient runes ritual on Harry's door when she felt heat spread through her skirt pocket - a galleon to which she'd linked another and given it to Peia to signal when she was at the Head Common Room portrait hole. When the younger girl climbed through the entrance and greeted her cheerfully, Hermione held a finger up to her lips and simply let her know that Harry Evans was now a friend.</p><p>Peia brushed past her into the common room. "I wondered how long it would take him."</p><p>Hermione blinked, then turned toward her. "What?"</p><p>"Harry. To figure out you're a friend, too." Peia plopped down on one of the common room couches. She set her bookbag on the ground and fluffed out her hair. The Longbottoms had straightened it and dyed it brown before she returned for her second year, apparently, but the resourceful child had managed to find a countercharm that had not only made it curly but returned it to its original color - midnight black. "He's not so bad, you know."</p><p>She frowned. "I know <em>now.</em> But how do <em>you</em> know?"</p><p>"I can just tell. In his eyes." Peia poked at Hermione's rucksack. "What's in here?"</p><p>Hermione frowned at the response, then shook her head and sat down next to her, explaining her purpose for re-examining the bag's contents. When Hermione mentioned that it could help Draco, Peia instantly offered her assistance.</p><p>They'd removed a good pile of items when the girl collapsed into giggles.</p><p>Hermione glanced over at her. Her laughter was contagious, and she couldn't help but smile. "What've you found?"</p><p>Peia only shook her head and handed Hermione a small, rectangular box. "Do girls… really… use this when they grow up?" she asked between giggles.</p><p>Hermione squinted at the pink label scrawled in elegant script across the top of the black package and the tiny print beneath. She couldn't help but snort contemptuously after she read it. "No, they certainly don't. The only women who use this are either completely daft or completely…"</p><p>She trailed off suddenly. The muscles in her chest tightened.</p><p>For a moment, she couldn't breathe.</p><p>Peia sat up. "Completely what?"</p><p>As if all the disparate facts she'd been diligently gathering had been waiting for this very moment to activate, they suddenly laced together perfectly to form the ghost of a blueprint around a seemingly impossible scenario.</p><p>"Desperate," Hermione finally finished faintly.</p><p>She stood abruptly, clutching the box. "Peia, wait here, alright?"</p><p>Without even looking to Peia's response, she bolted for the stairs, barreling into her bedroom. "Sorry to interrupt your happy reunion snog, but there's something important we need to discuss."</p><p>Still on the sofa, Pansy and Harry tumbled off each other, Harry literally to the floor. He cursed, swiftly straightening himself and his uniform tie. "Are you normally this bloody annoying?"</p><p>"No, she's not. You need to listen to her!"</p><p>All three of them quickly turned to find Peia standing importantly next to Hermione. <em>Well, so much for following directions</em>, Hermione thought wryly, though she couldn't deny she respected the little girl's spunk.</p><p>Harry instantly stiffened, his eyes shooting daggers from Peia to Hermione. "Who is she and why is she in our private living space?" he growled.</p><p>Before Hermione could even respond, Peia put her hands on her hips. "I'm<em> helping."</em></p><p>Harry scowled and shoved his finger toward the door. "Well, you can help yourself back to wherever you came from and never come here again."</p><p>Pansy elbowed him, a small, fond smile on her face. "Oh, don't be such a box; she's just a child."</p><p>"Blasted dwarf, more like it. How do we know we can trust it?"</p><p>"I'm not a dwarf, I'm a girl," Peia retorted. "And you can trust me because I've kept Draco's secret, I've kept Hermione and Pansy's secret, and now I'll keep yours, too."</p><p>If Pansy hasn't been holding him back, Harry looked as ready to advance on Peia as he had on Hermione on the staircase earlier that afternoon. "You will, will you?" he asked in a low voice. "When a Legilimens is staring you square in the eyes, you'll keep my secret?"</p><p>She shrugged, clearly not intimidated. "They have already. I just… block them from seeing."</p><p>Hermione swiftly looked at Harry and Pansy to see that they were already exchanging surprised glances.</p><p>The realization struck her quickly:</p><p>Cassiopeia Black-Lestrange-Longbottom was a natural Occlumens.</p><p>While Occlumency and Legilimency were learned skills, some people were more or less adept at them than others - Harry Potter being the prime example there. Very rarely had Hermione heard of this young an Occlemens prodigy, but she supposed it wasn't impossible. With a mother like Bellatrix, she wouldn't be surprised if the woman had practiced Legilimency on Peia as an infant to prepare her for moments like this.</p><p>Suddenly, the fact that Peia had remarkably managed to continue to see Draco for an entire year without getting caught didn't seem quite as far-fetched as it originally had.</p><p>Still, Hermione feared the topics she was about to bring up were well over the twelve-year-old's head. "Peia, darling, I appreciate your support, but you should probably go back downstairs. We're going to be discussing some adult things now."</p><p>Not surprisingly, Peia stood her ground. "More adult than losing my mum? Than seeing what's happened to all my friends, and what's been done to Draco? You can't leave me out when you're about to go save him!"</p><p>Instantly, the faint glow to Pansy's cheeks faded. "What's this?" she whispered.</p><p>Hermione briefly closed her eyes. This was not how she had imagined leading in to her argument.</p><p>"We're not saving anyone yet," she said firmly, giving Peia a stern sidelong glance before she met Harry's now-wary gaze. "But I need your help to answer a few questions."</p><p>"What, about 'saving Malfoy?' Then I have one answer for all of them: you're mad."</p><p>"Harry, please," Pansy said tightly.</p><p>Harry's jaw tightened. He visibly inhaled and looked back at Hermione. "Well then?" he snapped.</p><p>Hermione nodded, mentally organizing the order of her proposal. "Alright. Fred and George Weasley. What's—"</p><p>Pansy suddenly sucked in a small breath and turned deathly white.</p><p>Hermione didn't miss her reaction and uncertainly stopped speaking.</p><p>Before she could ask what was wrong, Harry immediately wrapped his arm around Pansy and pulled her close to him. She buried her face in his chest; he brushed her hair back with his hand, murmuring to her. Even Peia moved to sit on the other side of Pansy, wrapping her small arms around her waist, while Hermione looked on, feeling a mix of utter bafflement and gnawing guilt that this was somehow her fault.</p><p>After a minute, Harry glared up at Hermione. "What the hell's your problem?" he hissed.</p><p>She almost stepped back the the ferocity of the attack. "What? What do you mean, my problem?"</p><p>"Mentioning<em> them," </em>he spat.</p><p>Her mouth opened and closed in shock. "I — I don't understand…"</p><p>"Harry, it's alright," Pansy said faintly. She took a deep breath and put her hand on his chest, though she made no attempt to leave his embrace. "I'll be alright. See what… see what she wants to know. If it can help…"</p><p>When Harry's angry gaze seemed to give her permission to speak again, Hermione said cautiously, "I'm sorry, I - only want to know their profession here."</p><p>Harry clenched his jaw for several seconds before he responded. "The Twins. That's what they're called. They work out of the Phoenix, design tools that help… track, trap, and extract information. They're extremely twisted human beings. And that's all we'll be saying on that topic," he finished icily.</p><p>
  <em>Oh Godric.</em>
</p><p>Hermione easily made the jump between the twins' new occupation and Pansy's horrified response. More guilt slammed into her. "Pansy, I'm so sorry; if I'd known-"</p><p>Pansy shook her head. "But you didn't. It's alright. If it helps Draco, it's alright."</p><p>A minute of silence passed before Hermione cleared her throat. "I just had to - well - there isn't any kind of, erm, joke shop in this universe, is there?"</p><p>Harry snorted acerbically. "There's one of those in yours?"</p><p>That was enough of an answer for her. It meant the item she now held in her hand wasn't commonplace, and that was exactly what she was banking on for this entire caper to have a remote chance of working.</p><p>"Alright, moving on quickly," she said briskly. "How easy is it to - buy and sell a House-Wizard?" From the few books she'd found on the topic, in theory, it seemed quite simple, but she needed an idea of whether it truly was in reality. "Does the sale need to be officiated, or can it be as informal as one likes as long as the necessary documents are exchanged?"</p><p>Harry frowned. "From what I've seen, the legal owner needs to willingly hand off the House-Wizard's official lead and deed - they can't do it under the force of magical influence, that is. And that's about as complicated as it gets. Saw one get gambled away over one too many Firewhiskeys in Diagon Alley, even." Pansy silently tensed beside him, her eyes anguished. Even his own lip curled slightly in disgust. "I assume any changes to the document are charmed to automatically reflect in the Hall of Records."</p><p>Hermione held back a grim smile. In her mind, her initial blueprints solidified into a feasible plan far better than any other she'd considered yet… as insane as it might be.</p><p>"Then tell me one more thing." She looked between Harry and Pansy, Peia silently watching the exchange from the latter's side. "What kind of betting man is Ronáld Weasley?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Hermione's Plan, Part I: The Caper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whoa, I've been on a roll with these last couple of chapters! As a reminder for these two parts especially, this is M. There will be language, sexual references and suggestions of violence, though nothing too explicit I think. We can blame Ronáld for most of that.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ronáld Weasley had to say, he was having an <em>excellent</em> weekend.</p><p>Late Friday night, Evans had actually resurfaced from whatever shirty, antisocial mood he'd been in for far longer than Ronáld even bothered to recall. As it turned out, the wait was worth it.</p><p>First, it seemed that his old mate actually remembered how to have<em> fun - </em>under the cover of Evans' Invisibility Cloak, they'd snuck over to Hogsmeade in the One-Eyed Witch Passage like they'd used to before the Conservative Subversion began and raided Rosmerta's Firewhiskey stores, which led to a <em>very</em> entertaining Friday night.</p><p>Second, Evans had convinced Ronáld that he needed to get over My, that the self-centered, petulant little bint wasn't worth it. After subsequent shags with Lavender Brown - oh, she was <em>glorious</em> - and then Hannah Abbott and Lavender Brown <em>again</em>, Ronáld could confidently say that, damn it, Evans had been absolutely right. He was a perfectly fine male specimen without the trophy that was Lady My Granger Evans hanging off his side, thank you very much, and he didn't give one sod <em>how</em> often she batted her lashes at him during dinner on Saturday, she could go find some other bloke to screech at, for all he cared.</p><p>No, after he'd announced to the entire Gryffindor Common Room on Saturday night that he was a free man, Ronáld suddenly had multiple women hanging off him who were <em>much</em> more compliant than My ever was (unless she wanted something), no doubt even more of them waiting in the wings should he beckon them, and life was very, very good.</p><p>By Sunday's Quidditch victory over Ravenclaw in the first match of the season, Ronáld literally felt invincible. He had made save after save, putting the unpleasant little <em>mishap</em> that was last year's Quidditch Cup championship match well behind him, and earning him the right to sneer triumphantly at his sister as his adoring fans carried him off the field, chanting his name.</p><p>Yes, his last year at Hogwarts was going to be his best year yet, and no snippity women, no badgering parents, no filthy, insubordinate Fusties, and certainly no My Evans were going to stop him from coming out on the very top of the food chain.</p><p>As Butterbeer and Firewhiskey bottles popped in the Gryffindor Common Room around him and streamers rained down, he realized he had been having such a blasted good time that he'd forgotten to give <em>his</em> Fusty a well-deserved reminder of exactly who his superior was. No sooner had he begun to cross the post-victory celebrations toward the parasite's cage, though, did Evans and Finnigan pull him over to the video game console.</p><p>Bloody <em>hell </em>- Evans had somehow gotten his hands on Dark World IV! The latest series wasn't scheduled for release until December, but apparently having a Muggleborn mum paid off in more ways than one, he thought resentfully.</p><p>For a moment, he couldn't help but scowl - if only <em>his </em>mother had been a Muggleborn, or at least Mixed - but he reminded himself that a fortuitous birth was the <em>only</em> element in which Harry Evans had him beat.</p><p>As was clearly evident as he continued to trounce Evans and Finnigan, level after level.</p><p>As the night deepened, gaming wands flung artificial spells at 3D Fusties and other invaders lunging at them out of the screen, Firewhiskeys were downed - three, four, five, Ronáld had really lost count - and Lavender, Parvati, Hannah, Susan Bones, and a few choice other girls who'd been lucky enough to be invited to the exclusive Gryffindor party gathered around them, squealing at every hit he made.</p><p>The impromptu Dark World Tournament ended when the Creevey brothers opened their regular Quidditch gambling corner. Tomorrow saw Puddlemere United against the Wimbourne Wasps and the Falmouth Falcons against the Chudley Cannons. Ronald frowned. He knew this particular match had been coming, and his alcohol-muddled brain attempted to sort through a few pesky but pressing facts. He loved his Cannons, but the Falcons had gone undefeated for the past thirty matches. The Cannons had only won two in the same amount of time.</p><p>Suddenly, Evans appeared beside him, and tossed a bag on the table. "Fifty galleons on Falmouth."</p><p>Colin Creevey let out a delighted chuckle, pouring the coins onto the collective pile they kept in a spell-protected amphora behind them. "Excellent, Evans, raising the stakes; I like it."</p><p>Evans smirked darkly. "It's go big or go home where I throw my coins." He glanced over at Ronáld. "Isn't that right, Weasley?"</p><p>Ronáld heard the challenge even if no one else did; there was no way he was letting <em>Evans </em>take the big win for that night, not when Ronáld had become an unstoppable force. Without hesitation, he summoned his entire sack of loose change. The bag landed on the betting table with a<em> thud</em>.</p><p>"A hundred -" He paused, trying to remember exactly how much he had, "- a hundred five galleons. All on the - the<em> Cannons." </em></p><p>For a moment, the entire corner of the common room went silent. Then Lavender gasped and curled up to him. "Oh <em>Ronnie.</em> What a bold wager."</p><p>Ronáld smoothed a hand over his hair and smirked, lazing throwing his arm over Lavender's shoulders and reveling in the many awed eyes on him. Oh yes. He <em>knew </em>this was the right decision. Just a little reminder to them all of which Gryffindor really <em>went big</em>. "You haven't seen <em>anything</em> yet, bitty," he purred into her ear before burrowing his face into the side of her neck, causing her to shriek and then giggle loudly.</p><p>The youngest Creevey picked up the bag slowly. "You sure about this, Weasley?"</p><p>"You better-" he hiccuped "-better believe I am. And when the Cannons win, I'll be <em>perfectly</em> glad to take his - all of your money," he said with a pleased grin, pointing a flask of Firewhiskey toward the students around him. "Now… where's my ticket?"</p><p>He began to stumble away from the crowded booth, leaning heavily on a babbling Lavender and in general feeling quite satisfied with how the night was progressing - when he stopped dead.</p><p>He was supremely annoyed to notice that most of the students standing around him had done the same.</p><p>My Granger was standing inside the portrait hole - wearing nothing but bright scarlet stilettos and <em>that dress. </em></p><p>It was a thigh-high, strapless red number that dipped down her chest and clung to her body like a glove, leaving nothing to imagination. Ronáld <em>hated </em>that bloody dress. The color clashed horribly with his hair, and he distinctly remembered forbidding her to wear it when they were together in public.</p><p>Lavender tugged at his arm, clearly displeased. "Ronnie! I thought you said the two of you're finished!"</p><p>"Oh, we are. <em>Over.</em>" He turned his back on My. "So why don't you say we go - errrr - go back to my room, eh, pet?" he suggested with a smirk.</p><p>"But <em>pumpkin,"</em> Lavender giggled, "why do we have to go anywhere?"</p><p>Brilliant. Why indeed? </p><p>They had just begun to snog in the middle of the common room when something heavy slammed into his back. At its force, Ronáld actually stumbled forward into Lavender. She let out a shriek, leaping back and nursing her lip. Somewhere behind them, he heard a few muffled barks of laughter.</p><p>"Bloody <em>hell—"</em></p><p>He spun angrily, losing his balance only a bit… and found himself face to face with My Granger's furious expression, a long metal candlestick in her hand.</p><p>"What do you think you're doing with <em>her?"</em> she spat.</p><p>Ronáld smirked widely, the pain in his shoulder all but forgotten. Oh, wasn't it a sweet, sweet victory to be sitting on the other side of the table? "You know. Just enjoying the fineries of life I <em>never</em> did with you, pet."</p><p>She looked like she was ready to hit him with the candlestick again. "How <em>dare</em> you! After all this time, you'll leave me for that <em>Old-Blood?"</em></p><p>Lavender squeaked indignantly, but Ronáld actually giggled. "How dare <em>I? </em>Listen to you, your knickers alllll in a twist. Have a taste of your own medicine, why don't you." He threw his arm back around Lavender and spun around, stumbling once when he accidentally ran into the footrest. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Brown and I have some - some unfinished business to take care of. If you know what I mean," he sneered.</p><p>Before he could take another step, My was standing in front of him. His head spun. How had she moved that quickly?</p><p>But then her hand touched his chest and began to stroke it slowly, and he stiffened, stopping his wonderment of anything at all.</p><p>"Really?" she breathed. "You mean, you'd choose that <em>plebeian </em>over… me?" Her lip curled slightly as she looked toward Lavender, then gazed back up at him and smiled seductively. "When you and I could walk up those stairs right now to your big, comfortable bed… and we could have the most<em> mind-blowing</em> night of your <em>entire</em> life?"</p><p>His entire body tightened. For a moment, his mind blanked at a decent argument against that.</p><p>"Steady, mate," he suddenly heard Evans mutter from somewhere behind him.</p><p>At those two words, Ronáld drew up his chest, scoffing. He didn't need sodding <em>Evans</em> to remind him to be steady. He was a single man now. A bachelor, like Sirius Black. Better than Black, even - Black's father wasn't Viceroy of the entire Sovereignty; <em>Black </em>came from a family of Fusties.</p><p>That was right, My Granger and her poofy, perfect hair had no influence on him here; not in that hideous red dress, and especially not after such a resounding Quidditch victory.</p><p>"R-Rubbish," he spat, shoving her away from him. "You don't hold a whit to - to Brown here." He stumbled over the words, trying to recall exactly how to string together what he wanted to say. "I don't - don't even think of you anymore."</p><p>"That's a lie, you toad!" Her voice was elevated now. "I bet you dream of me every time you're with her, and I bet I could still give you the best night you've ever had!"</p><p>A catcall suddenly cut through the background, and the sound distracted Ronáld enough for him to notice Thomas and Finnigan waggling their eyebrows at him knowingly.</p><p>He snorted and rolled his eyes, taking a swing of his Firewhiskey. "Bet you can't."</p><p>"Bet I <em>can," </em>My countered forcefully, looking shirty. "In fact, I bet you your House-Wizard I can!"</p><p>Ronáld scowled at her. Oh, she thought she had the upper hand, but she didn't. He was stronger than her, and there was no way on earth even <em>My</em> could top Lavender Brown and Hannah Abbot's joint show for him the night before - any experience short of a bloody rapture couldn't. "Then I bet you your House-Witch you can't!"</p><p>Before she could respond, the older Creevey shoved his way between them. "Do I sense a wager?" he asked eagerly.</p><p>"Yes, you do!" Ronáld said without hesitation, grabbing the thinner boy by his collar and yanking him over. "Did you hear that? Put that down - Her House-Witch for my House-Wizard if she doesn't give me the best damn night of my entire life tonight!"</p><p>"Blimey, Weasley - <em>Honestly?"</em> he heard someone - Longbottom - hiss from nearby. "This is <em>Malfoy</em> you'd be losing! And for what, some worthless twit?"</p><p>By now, a circle had formed around them, and many of them were watching with a mixture of shocked and doubtful expressions.</p><p>Ronáld scowled. Oh, of course<em> everyone</em> expected him to just <em>fall</em> <em>back</em> into her arms. But he knew that this time, he bloody well would not. After dealing with My's temper tantrums and mood swings for far longer than any self-respecting man would - yes, Evans couldn't have been more right about that - he was back on top of the world and he liked the view, thank you very much. He wasn't going to let the simpering harpy knock him off again.</p><p>If he wasn't quite so drunk, he might have noticed when Evans had stiffened beside Creevey at the mention of a House-Witch and even morso when Longbottom had spoken to him, or when My had shot an unnaturally panicked, uncomfortable look in his mate's direction and hesitate over her response more than necessary.</p><p>"I'll need both of the leads and deeds," Creevey said as though the decision had already been made. "It's a subjective bet, so I'll need to cast a metric charm on you to objectively measure your immediate emotional response in the morning, Weasley. You know the spell - the one Black invented for his game show."</p><p>Unhesitatingly, Ronáld removed his Wizex, relishing that My suddenly looked less confident than she had before.</p><p><em>Not so sure of yourself now that you have to play the game, are you? </em>he thought wickedly. He couldn't help but smirk as he held out his wand, thinking harder than he usually had to for a thin, rolled-up document to zoom down the stairs from the Eighth Year dorms. "Here." He willingly shoved it and his Wizex in Creevey's direction without even looking at him, his eyes locked on My's in challenge.</p><p>Creevey turned to My. "Now, yours?"</p><p>She definitely looked uncertain now, Ronáld just knew she did.</p><p>"I - I need time to summon the necessary items," she told Creevey haughtily before looking back at him with a displeased sniff. Clearly at the fact that she was about to lose her grubby little Fusty, who was likely the only reason she ever made it to class on time. "Why would you ever want such a <em>useless</em> House-Witch?"</p><p>"Not completely useless, pet; I'll need <em>something</em> to comfort me when you fail to cause a - <em>rise</em> to the challenge," Ronáld said with a smirk, pleased with such a snappy comeback on such short notice.</p><p>Something bumped hard into him then, and Ronáld distantly noticed in annoyance it was a glowering Evans, but he didn't stop to wonder at it; instead, he sensed another victory was at hand. He leaned toward her. <em>"Well, </em>pet? Time to put your - er - money where your mouth is, eh?" He lowered his voice. "Or - have you remembered your true place in our relationship: <em>below</em> me?"</p><p>Something flashed in her expression. She suddenly looked him square in the eye. "You're on."</p><p>A collective gasp rose from more than one onlooking student, and Creevey smiled delightedly as My summoned the House-Witch's ownership articles, her lips pursed in a deep pout. When they arrived, Creevey sent them and Ronáld's own afloat in a golden light with a Locomotor charm and number of other spells that Ronáld's brain didn't feel like analyzing. They floated across the common room until they settled next to the Quidditch stand amphora.</p><p>"Lord Weasley's House-Wizard to Lady Evans if she gives Lord Weasley the best night he's ever had in his entire life. Lady Evans' House-Witch to Lord Weasley if she doesn't," Creevey announced dramatically. "Play clean, the both of you: The rules are, no love potions or enhancement enchantments allowed. The winner of the bet will be free to take both ownership titles tomorrow; they'll remain untouchable here until then. Now shake on it."</p><p>Ronáld eagerly held out his hand, almost falling forward at the too-abrupt motion. After a moment, My took it, her expression again set in a measured smile. Creevey tapped his wand against their clasped hands, sealing the wager and the conditions. A purple glow looped between them.</p><p>"The bet is on!" he proclaimed, causing scattered cheers to break out from onlookers. "Now, do I have five galleons on Weasley? What about ten on Evans?"</p><p>Ronáld smirked smugly as various students began to shell out bets in his favor, scowling at anyone who was supporting My.</p><p>She tilted her head up toward the boys' dorm rooms, meeting his eyes with the same coquettish smile on her face. "Meet you there soon… Ronnie."</p><p>As she turned to go, Ronáld frowned, loathe to let her take control of the situation. He almost tripped forward in his effort to pursue her. "Oh no you don't… We'll both go now!"</p><p>She turned back around, then sashayed toward him until she was so close he could smell her perfume. "No no no, Ronnie, that wasn't part of the agreement." She again slowly slid her hands down his chest until they landed on his sweater pocket. She played with it idly. "No, you just wait right here while I go and make myself… presentable."</p><p>For the briefest - <em>briefest - </em>moment, Ronáld wondered if this was such a good idea after all, but then Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas hooted and slapped him on the back, and the doubt dissolved into a mocking grin. "Need to make sure you look good when you go down, eh, pet?"</p><p>More laughter at that only encouraged him. Yes. He had this. He was a winner, the rest of this weekend had only proved that. He had <em>nothing </em>to worry about.</p><p>When Longbottom appeared at his side, wanting to know if he could have a go at the House-Wizard that night since Ronáld would be otherwise occupied, he was in too good a mood to even stop to ask for payment. Before he headed up to the dorms, he turned to find Evans and gave him a thumbs up, only to see the Mixed-Blood staring coldly after him. If Ronáld had known any better, which he really didn't, he'd say something akin to actual dread was in his expression.</p><p>Ronald rolled his eyes. The cudger was so <em>fickle. </em>First Evans seemed certain Ronáld could handle himself without My; now he thought he couldn't… Well, Ronáld would show him. He and the bint were finished.</p><p>Tonight would only announce that to the world.</p><p>Even if he had to charm himself the equivalent of a cold shower, this was one gamble Ronáld had no intention of losing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ronáld is a bit ridiculous, isn't he? </p><p>So... what do we think Hermione's real plan is?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Hermione's Plan, Part II: The Setup</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Seven Hours Later</strong>
</p><p>Draco laid lifelessly on the stone floor of the cage, exhaustedly staring ahead at nothing at all. His face throbbed. Excruciating pain stabbed through his abdomen every time he breathed. His arms, his wrists burned as they stretched limply somewhere in front of him. Every bone in his body ached, and if someone had yanked him up and fired a Killing Curse at his chest, Longbottom's multiple Adflicto Affligo curses had left him so weak he couldn't have even moved to try to stop them.</p><p>But he felt much more deeply broken than that.</p><p>She had left.</p><p>He'd learned that much last night between Longbottom and Thomas's curses and insults.</p><p><em>"He's an idiot," he heard Thomas snort. "She's as cracking as she's ever been. I don't care how much he's supposedly 'gotten over her;' there's no way he </em>can't<em> lose against </em>that."</p><p><em>"Why d'you think I wanted a chance at this one tonight, mate? Who knows how long it'll be until </em>she<em> opens him up to the public."</em></p><p>
  <em>A sudden wave of razor-like pain slashed at his stomach to his very core, and Draco clamped down on his cheek to hold back a scream. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"—all knew she'd go back to him eventually. Weasley and My are like bread and butter. Never thought it'd be quite that dramatic a reunion though."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He felt his heart stop. They couldn't have - possibly meant…?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Well, that's her style, My. No doubt they'll both be enjoying themselves tonight. Y'know - Fighting and make-up shags and all that."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He didn't think he'd had the energy to react, but he must have done something, because Longbottom and Thomas' conversation stopped abruptly, their attention turning fully toward him.</em>
</p><p>No, no, no…</p><p>
  <em>Draco squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe evenly. He wanted to yank away but the ropes binding him to the ceiling dug deep into his wrists, holding him firmly in place. He knew the words that were coming long before they even left Thomas's mouth.</em>
</p><p><em>"Oh - this </em>is<em> precious. Does the ickle Fusty still have an ickle crush?"</em></p><p>
  <em>Something that wasn't a curse stabbed straight through Draco's gut. He gritted his jaw, didn't allow himself to speak. If it stopped them from guessing the truth, he wouldn't correct them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He flinched when they both burst out laughing. "He does! Blimey, that's bloody classic! Weasley'll throw a wobbly when he finds out." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dread soaked him to his bones. </em>
</p><p><em>Through a burning haze of blood and sweat, he saw Longbottom step closer, still laughing, a contemptuous smile on his face. Draco weakly turned his head into his shoulder, refusing to look at him. "Are you that dense, maggot? My Evans is one of the Elite. What are you? You aren't even nothing - you're worse than nothing. Carpets are thrown down so she can </em>step<em> over filth like you." </em></p><p>She had left.</p><p>My was back, and Hermione… she was gone.</p><p>The single thought at first had been enough to send him into a panic so debilitating he could hardly breathe. He hadn't realized just how much he'd come to rely on her, on the hope she gave him, on everything about her presence that was a rush of life and air in the suffocating hell that was his existence. He should have <em>known</em> better, should have stopped himself before it happened, especially after the final suppression that had led to the destruction of everything and everyone he'd ever held dear, but…</p><p>For some reason, it hurt more than he ever remembered.</p><p>As the loss seeped into his soul, he slowly stopped feeling every frantic emotion burning through his chest.</p><p>All that remained now was just numbness. Just defeat.</p><p>Perhaps he finally <em>was</em> going mad. Perhaps it truly had been My who'd thrown the Cruciatus Curse at him, out of spite and not something else; perhaps everything else he'd experienced with her over the past few weeks really only had been a dream, a hallucination, an effort by his flagging mind to block out the indescribable pain of the torture however it could.</p><p>But now, even the dreams were gone.</p><p>All he knew was that he had never felt so alone.</p><p>He didn't know how much time passed while he stared blankly out the bars. He didn't know what day it was, what time it was - the cage was charmed so he couldn't see or hear anything that wasn't very near or directly in front of it. Some part of him wanted to hug his knees to his chest, but another part easily overpowered the impulse; the effort it would have required was too much.</p><p>Abruptly, the door of the cage blew open. Draco blinked but didn't even flinch when Weasley's enraged face appeared.</p><p><em>"You.</em> I'll kill you," he snarled, raising his wand.</p><p>The spell he fired caused Draco to fly out of the cage; he distantly caught sight of an overturned chair and demolished coffee table nearby before he slammed into another armchair.</p><p>A <em>crack</em> resonated from his arm, and searing pain burst through his shoulder.</p><p>Suddenly, Draco was very awake.</p><p>Weasley followed his fall wearing only a robe and shorts, blasting another chair out of the way with a fury Draco had rarely seen, even from him.</p><p>Adrenaline exploded through every nerve in his beaten body. Feebly, he tried to drag himself somewhere, anywhere in a futile attempt to protect himself as Weasley flung the tip of his wand down at him and said vehemently, <em>"Avada—"</em></p><p>The curse never finished.</p><p>Draco gasped in ragged breaths, pain stabbing through his chest with each, and realized he was no longer clutching carpet but smooth stone floor.</p><p>His heart in his throat, he managed to turn his leaden head enough to see between matted snarls of unshorn hair not a rampaging Weasley, but an incredibly beautiful woman in a sheer, billowing robe standing in front of him. Early morning sunlight streamed through a window behind her, shadowing her features. He blinked in the unnaturally bright light, trying to understand what was happening. Was this… was this some strange form of <em>death?</em></p><p>But then the woman moved, reaching down and grabbing his arm. "Draco, come on!"</p><p>Her form finally blocked the rays of direct sunlight as she tried unsuccessfully to heave him up, and Draco realized with a bolt of shock akin to electrocution that the woman was <em>My. </em></p><p>Or… Could it actually be…?</p><p>Hope gripped him.</p><p>"Herm-" he began numbly, but his voice cracked, "Hermione—?"</p><p>Her impeccably made-up face was suddenly inches from him, as if she'd crouched beside him. "Yes, yes, it's me," she said in a low voice. "We have to get out of here. I'll explain everything later, I swear!"</p><p>His eyes began to burn, and he struggled to restrain the emotion with a strength he didn't quite have. "You're… real?" he croaked.</p><p>For a moment, her voice lost some of its forceful tension. "Yes. I'm real," she said quietly, though she sounded surprised. Her fingers grazed his aching face, brushing some hair out of his eyes. She gasped and mumbled, "Oh Merlin, I thought we'd prevented…"</p><p>She trailed off, and he sank into her gentle touch with a relief so profound he didn't think any language on earth could express it in words.</p><p>"Draco, you have to get up," she suddenly said tensely. "Right now.<em> Now,</em> Draco."</p><p>The insistent urgency to her voice jolted through his fleeting moment of peace. With shaking hands, he tried to push himself to his feet. He'd hardly moved before his right arm crumpled beneath him, and he bit back a yelp of pain, his entire drained body collapsing back to the ground as though he was heavy as lead.</p><p>She gasped again. "Merlin, I'm - Wait, don't even try to move yet. <em>Torperus!" </em>Abruptly, the pain in his arm, his stomach, his legs became nothing but a dull ache. "I'm sorry, that's all I've got time for, but it'll temporarily numb the pain." She heaved up his shoulders slightly. "Now, come on - I'll help you!"</p><p>He shook his head, the motion so weak he wasn't even sure he'd actually moved. He fought back a wave of confusion and frustration. "I... <em>can't," </em>he choked out, desperate for her to understand. "Adflicto… affligo…"</p><p>Her eyes widened in comprehension.</p><p>"Of course! <em>Rennervate!"</em> she whispered.</p><p>Energy akin to a lightning strike jolted through his body. His arms and legs twitched, and he could have gasped in relief. Her hand gripped his left arm, his right hanging uselessly at his side. With the newfound strength the spell provided, he stumbled to his feet, trying to remember exactly how to move his muscles in order to stand.</p><p>Hermione propped herself against his left side and immediately took off, dragging him forward faster than his feet could shuffle even though she was the one in high-heels. For the first time, he noticed his surroundings and realized that he was in the hallway outside the Gryffindor common room.</p><p>No sooner had they turned into the next corridor when a loud <em>bang! </em>echoed off the walls behind them<em>, </em>as if the portrait hole had been violently thrown open.</p><p>The leg Pomfrey had poorly fixed promptly gave out. He stumbled, would have fallen entirely if Hermione hadn't shouldered more of his weight than he'd expected she could.</p><p>
  <em>"Weasley!"</em>
</p><p>Draco stopped breathing.</p><p>Hermione cursed under her breath and swiftly veered to the right, into the niche-like indentation between two of the columns lining the hallway, and leaned him against the side of the column. As she began muttering spells he vaguely recognized as wards, the muscles in his chained hands began to spasm uncontrollably, and with his uninjured hand, he clenched the other tightly, exhaustedly sliding to the ground.</p><p>"Weasley, what the devil's going on?" continued the voice - Longbottom's, he suddenly recognized - it and the rapid footsteps accompanying it growing closer.</p><p>Draco could have asked the same question. Whatever it was, it was about to end. Why were they running as if he could actually escape the House-Wizard bond? It was impossible - he couldn't.</p><p>And if anything happened to her because of him, he would never, ever forgive himself.</p><p>"Hermione, no!" he whispered desperately. "Please just go!"</p><p>She dropped to her knees beside him and pressed a hand over his mouth. <em>"Sssh!"</em></p><p>His stomach jumped to his throat when she moved flush against him in the same motion, so close she was practically on top of him, and flung what he only hoped was her Invisibility Cloak over the both of them…</p><p>Just as a more fully-dressed Weasley strode around the corner, looking even more murderous than he had minutes earlier.</p><p>Draco froze, his heart pounding so rapidly he thought it might actually explode from his chest. His panicking eyes shifted toward Hermione — Weasley could say his name at any second and he wouldn't be able to hide anymore — but she just shook her head tensely, her face inches from his.</p><p>Longbottom jogged around the same bend a few seconds later. "Weasley! Bloody hell." He caught Weasley's arm, jerking him to a stop a stone's throw from the hollow in the wall where Draco and Hermione were crouched. "I take it last night didn't go so well?"</p><p>"Never mind last night," Weasley snarled, spinning back toward him. "She took him. That smarmy bitch actually took him. Father's going to <em>kill </em>me. What am I supposed to do now?"</p><p>Longbottom held up his hands. "Blow me, Weasley, even Lavender Brown could have told you it was going to end like this."</p><p>"No it <em>wasn't; </em>I was supposed to sodding <em>win!" </em></p><p>With a growl, Weasley violently flung a curse straight toward them.</p><p>Draco's body instinctively cringed sharply and he hated himself for it, but suddenly his exposed head and shoulders were swiftly pulled tightly against someone as if they were trying to block him. Too late, he realized in horror that that someone was <em>Hermione.</em> He immediately jerked to try to push her aside, but the chains yanked his wrists back together and his arms were locked in her suddenly suffocating hold, so he simply froze, feverishly praying to any god who'd listen that she hadn't been hit.</p><p>When a few seconds passed and she didn't react, he let out grateful breath against the smooth skin of her collarbone - The spell must have missed them by inches.</p><p>A thick silence followed. Hermione stayed stock still, not releasing her iron grip on him, and Draco held his breath lest it give them away. He knew she'd done the same when he literally felt her chest stop moving, the heavy exhalations against the top of his head vanishing.</p><p>"So she was… pretty good then, eh?" Longbottom asked. He sounded slightly calmer than he had before, as if the curse had actually diffused some of the tension.</p><p>When Weasley spoke again, it was almost as though he transfigured into another person. "She was… bloody fucking amazing. Holy mother of Merlin."</p><p>After a moment, Draco heard footsteps again, as if they'd begun walking. After a few seconds, another spell sounded like it'd been fired somewhere down the hall, and Weasley's worshipful tone was gone. "Sodding good thing I have Dark Arts this morning; I feel like killing something slowly…"</p><p>Their voices faded. Another silence followed their disappearance, this time broken only by his and her ragged breaths. His tired, bewildered mind was spinning as surely as if someone had bashed him in the head with a bludger.</p><p>He hadn't understood the meaning behind half of what they'd said, but one sentence had stood out clearly:</p><p>
  <em>She took him.</em>
</p><p>What - What did that...?</p><p>Just then, Hermione loosened her grip on him, sighing heavily, and slumped down slightly, her forehead brushing his as she did. At the sudden contact, she jerked back, and in a rush of toned, tanned skin that met his gaze, Draco was suddenly reminded of exactly how close he was to her, of what she was wearing… of what she <em>wasn't</em> wearing.</p><p>His mind stopped working.</p><p>"We still have a bit of a ways to go. Do you think you can keep walking?" she was saying as he desperately attempted not to stare at her, with embarrassingly little success. He tried to breathe and inhaled the scent of roses. "Draco?"</p><p>"W-What — ?" he stammered out before he could stop himself, his voice strangled, and then he wanted to bash in his <em>own</em> head.</p><p>She followed his gaze downward. "Oh god. Sorry." She muttered a spell, and suddenly she was wearing not pink and white lingerie but a stunning red dress that still made his mouth go dry. She pulled the sheer material of the robe around her tightly, looking embarrassed when she had absolutely no bloody reason to, and quickly tucked long, curled hair back behind her ears before she retrained her gaze on him. "Right. Walking. Can you?"</p><p>"Why—" Draco cleared his throat, trying to redeem a sliver of his already nonexistent dignity, "Why hasn't he just summoned me back?"</p><p>For a moment, she didn't respond. "Because he can't," she said finally.</p><p>Quickly, his gaze shot to her face and searched it blankly, unable to comprehend what she was implying. Neither Weasley had ever been completely unable to summon him before. Had she stolen his lead? But that wouldn't work - his demon of a sister could just override it. At the thought of Ginevra, his lower arms began to jerk again; he gritted his teeth, trying to hold them steady, hoping she didn't notice. "What do you mean, he… <em>can't?" </em></p><p>Hermione looked down. He followed her actions in numb incomprehension as she Vanished the chains around his wrists and took his tremoring hands firmly, holding them still. "I mean, he can't hurt you anymore. <em>They</em> can't hurt you anymore," she said fiercely. She looked back up at him, her eyes resolute. "Come with me. I'll explain everything when we're somewhere safe."</p><p>They wove through achingly familiar hallways Draco hadn't in a thousand years imagined he'd ever see again. He shuffled beside her numbly, wearing the Invisibility Cloak, tensing whenever another student passed by and swallowing the urge to tense again when Justin Finch-Fletchy nodded to her with a wicked smirk and held up a jingling sack of coins. "Never doubted you for a second, Evans."</p><p>Hermione just gave him a very uncharacteristic, smug smirk back.</p><p>Draco <em>didn't know</em> what any of it meant, and his exhausted mind had reached a point where it was unwilling to generate anymore possibilities. All he could do was wait for her explanation as they climbed staircase after staircase.</p><p>"What you did - " he suddenly began when they topped yet another flight of stairs and no one else seemed to be present, "When Weasley threw that spell at us - "</p><p>Hermione glanced toward him even though he knew she couldn't seem him, furrowing her brow. "What'd I do?"</p><p>"You covered me." The very memory of it sickened him.<em> "</em>You shouldn't have. I should've been the one jumping in front of you."</p><p>She frowned. "Why's it matter who's jumped in front of who?"</p><p>He couldn't believe that she of all people didn't comprehend the obvious answer to that question. "Because you've - you've risked your life for me over and over, and I'm not…" He broke off, looking away from her. "I know you're aware of this, but it bears repeating that this world isn't a forgiving one. If you're caught out of line once, just once, your entire life will be…"</p><p>He trailed off as memories flooded him: of his mother working endless hours at whatever lowly jobs were offered to her so she could afford to put even the cheapest food on the table, of being turned away from almost every store in the Sovereignty when trying to purchase school supplies, of being snubbed for academic opportunities because he refused to openly practice Dark Magic, of shepherding families and children into burrows while Dumbledore's Army burned through Conservative villages, of being thrown down in chains in the Hall of Justice while Dumbledore and the Sovereign Elite sat high above and Barty Crouch's father intoned tonelessly, <em>Draco Malfoy, for civil disobedience, conspiracy to insurrection, sabotage, and other deliberate crimes of destruction against the Sovereignty, you are hereby charged as an adult and sentenced to seven hundred and eighty-two years of civil servitude…</em></p><p>He blinked and looked up at her intently. "Hermione, you need to focus on protecting <em>yourself!"</em></p><p>Without warning, she reached over and yanked back the hood of the Invisibility Cloak, and Draco couldn't hide his startled eyes. "You're just as worthy of protection as I am!" she hissed.</p><p>He shook his head. "No. Not anymore." Though the words pained him to say aloud and he was unable to look at her when he did, it didn't make them any less true. He fixed his gaze back on her. "But you still have the chance to be free of this horror."</p><p>She met his eyes just as stubbornly, and her own seemed unwilling to let him in, to understand that her life was far too valuable to throw away on a prisoner with an irreversible lifelong sentence. After a moment, she bit out, "We are not having this conversation here. Not when you're a - a floating head!"</p><p>In any other situation, Draco would have laughed at that, but now he couldn't. He <em>needed</em> her to realize that he didn't want anyone else to be enslaved because of him, to die because of him, and most of all not her.</p><p>"I don't want you to risk your life for me," he repeated determinedly.</p><p>Hermione lifted her chin, iron determination scrawled across every inch of her body language. "My life is mine to risk however I please, just as yours should belong to you to live and die however you please. And if I've chosen to risk it for you, then I'd simply appreciate a nod and a 'thank you!' "</p><p>Draco desperately wanted to dissuade her again, but the fire that had leapt to her eyes and the words she spoke rendered him speechless. She hadn't the slightest idea, did she - of how rare her idealism was here, of how the basic freedoms in which she seemed to believe with all her soul were not so basic to him, to everyone else he knew who had suffered even worse fates? Oh, he knew she was well aware of how dangerous it was, but despite that, despite everything, she was still willing to fight for those freedoms -- fight to such an extent that he was impossibly, inexplicably standing with her here, and not lying dead chained to the floor of the Gryffindor Common Room.</p><p>No, a simple 'thank you' would not even begin to convey the depth of the gratitude he felt.</p><p>Slowly, his shaking hand lifted beneath the Cloak, reaching out toward her unyielding face. He froze when he realized what he was doing, then quickly yanked it back to his chest, clenching it into a fist.</p><p>She was right. All he had were words.</p><p>Looking into her eyes, he willed everything in him into what he was about to say.</p><p><em>"Thank </em>you," he whispered.</p><p>Her eyes widened slightly, and the hard edge to her expression wavered. For several seconds nothing was said or done, but then a burst of conversation several floors below them caused them both to jerk.</p><p>Hermione blinked rapidly, turning away. "You're welcome," she said brusquely. "Come on - we're almost there."</p><p>Draco didn't know what else he'd expected to happen in that moment, but he felt his shoulders slump. </p><p>Nothing. He was nothing; <em>this</em> was nothing.</p><p>Nothing, and yet... it had also quickly become everything.</p><p>They took shelter in the Room of Requirement again, though it looked more like they'd Apparated to a patient room at St. Mungo's, stocked with various healing creams and tinctures, and a bed that thankfully felt infinitely more comfortable than any of the aging, hard cots in the dilapidated Conservative Wizard Clinic attached to the back of the hospital. Hermione told him he needed to "recover here first," though for what would come second, he didn't know, and she promptly began to treat his wounds with the efficiency of a professional Mediwitch.</p><p>"You're awfully good at patching me up," he humorously noted through a wince as she set his right shoulder.</p><p>"Years of practice," she replied wryly, giving him a short smile before moving on to his wrists.</p><p>Draco tried to smile back if only to ward off the overwhelmingly acute fear that he was at any moment going to end up back in the nearly-destroyed Gryffindor Common Room facing another Killing Curse. He restrained his desperate need for answers for as long as he could bear he before he burst out, "Are you going to tell me what's going on, Hermione?"</p><p>She stopped, balm-covered fingers hovering near his cheek. "Oh! Merlin, I just got so…"</p><p>She trailed off before she stepped back, setting down the jar of bruise cream and sitting down across from him on the hospital bed. "Sorry. Right." She shifted, biting her lip. "Alright, I'm not quite sure how to say this without just coming out and saying it." She looked back up at him, and he was almost propelled backward at the ferocity in her gaze. "You don't belong to that <em>vile</em> family anymore."</p><p>The ferocity was not aimed at him, he realized.</p><p>Then what she said actually sank in.</p><p>He stared at her, afraid to hope, to think, to move, to even breathe. For a moment, his ability to speak failed him.</p><p><em>"What?"</em> he finally whispered.</p><p>Hermione reached into her robe pocket and pulled out a loosely rolled sheet of crisp parchment. She glanced down at it, then held it out to him. "This is the ownership deed - <em>your</em> ownership deed. It was signed over to me this morning."</p><p>Draco unrolled it slowly, saw the official Sovereignty letterhead stamped across the top and a single signature that was not the two Weasleys' at the bottom. For a moment he thought it must have been counterfeit, but the raised Phoenix seal on the corner looked too real for it to be so.</p><p>His lips unconsciously parted. Any oxygen in the room was abruptly sucked out, and dark walls closed in on his mind.</p><p>With one piece of paper, his entire world reeled.</p><p>He had never once doubted that he would surely live and die at the sadistic hand of the Weasleys. No one on earth - certainly no one he had known, since none had escaped the final suppression - had the power and the capability to pry or buy him from the iron hands of the Second Viceroy's family. He had steeled himself to die, had prayed for it on many days, even.</p><p>But now that irreparable knowledge was suddenly upended and flung on its side.</p><p>The paper trembled violently in his hands.</p><p>He remembered to breathe then and sucked in a breath, still not entirely convinced he wasn't simply going mad. His mind struggled to pull forth words that formed a comprehensible sentence.</p><p>"B-But - But now… <em>you</em> own me," he managed to piece together.</p><p>Hermione shook her head quickly, as if she knew what he was thinking. "No, absolutely not, not like that, not ever. I mean, I suppose I do, but — only on this piece of paper. For all intents and purposes, you're as free as you're ever going to be under that despicable bond."</p><p>He didn't know how long he stared at the parchment, at that all-important line that said, <em>Signed into the ownership of </em><strong><em>Lady My G. Evans, </em></strong><em>this Sunday, September 21…</em></p><p>"How in the nine circles of hell did you get him to give you this?" he finally whispered hoarsely.</p><p>For a moment, she didn't speak. "I, erm - Well, that's a rather long story…"</p><hr/><p>
  <strong> <em>Three Days Earlier</em> </strong>
</p><p><em>Once Harry told her about Ronáld's particular penchant for the Sunday Quidditch betting booth - and that there </em>was <em>a Sunday betting booth - Hermione stamped her own signature of approval on her now fully formed plan.</em></p><p><em>Before Harry could demand exactly why she wanted to know Ronáld's gambling propensity, she headed for a closet that </em> <em>quite possibly </em> <em>could have been as large as her family's entire living room in Universe A. She quickly searched through an army of shoes before she found what she was looking for: the tallest pair of nude high-heels she could find.</em></p><p>
  <em>While Harry, Pansy, and Peia watched suspiciously, she emerged and dropped them to the floor, then headed to one of the dressers for some very specific clothing items she'd disgustedly discovered about a week earlier while looking for a normal bra. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Where in the bloody hell…" she muttered, digging through the first drawer of lingerie and then the second…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry gave her a sharp look and stood abruptly. "You're about to do something idiotic." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'd say it's quite clever, actually," she retorted brusquely, averting his gaze as she pulled out the hated items that could hardly be classified as clothing. She shrunk them to the size of thumbtacks before Peia, Merlin save her, had a chance to see them, setting them on the top of her dresser. She had the props - check. Now she just needed to execute the setup. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It would be intricate for one person to pull off, she admitted, but it could be done. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When she turned back around, Pansy was also standing, biting her lip as she watched her worriedly. "You can't go alone," she said suddenly. She gave Harry a pointed expression, at which he took one look and then glared at Hermione fiercely. </em>
</p><p><em>"You can't go </em>at all.<em> I have no idea what you've planned, but I'm not about to let you cock it up and throw suspicion on yourself and by extension Pansy!" </em></p><p>
  <em>"Harry…" Pansy grabbed his arm and began whispering to him, her face determined. His jaw tightened before he looked back at Hermione, his eyes deadly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Fine. I'm going with you."</em>
</p><p><em>Hermione paused. She couldn't deny that the setup, at least, would be so much easier with a partner, especially one as close to Ronáld as Harry was, but bloody Morgana, was she prepared to trust </em>Harry Evans<em> with something this important? </em></p><p>
  <em>That thought effectively made her decision, and she gave Pansy a considerably less terse expression than what she would have Harry. "I appreciate the thought, but I'll work better knowing I don't have other people to worry about." </em>
</p><p>"You<em> have to worry about people?" Harry crossed his arms, stepping in front of the door to probably block her if she had any thought of exiting. "Considering you've never worried about anyone a day in your life and have an intellect the size of a stunted pigmy puff, I'd say we're the ones who have considerably more to worry about. I'm not letting you jeopardize the both of us doing whatever antics you have planned without taking along someone who actually has some sense." </em></p><p>
  <em>Pansy sighed, taking his hand and rubbing it with her own. "Harry, darling, I told you, she's incredibly intelligent now." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Not bloody likely, if she thinks she can barter for Malfoy with a pair of bleeding stilettos." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione reluctantly looked between his stony features and Pansy's pleading ones, and knew this was one battle she was going to lose no matter what she said. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Strangely, the moment she accepted she'd have to work with Harry Evans, she was flooded with ideas of exactly how useful he could be. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Fine," she said. She focused on his surprised face, as if he hadn't expected her to relent so easily. "Then your role starts tonight."</em>
</p><p>"My<em> role? Care to share your asinine plan with everyone else who'll be involved?" </em></p><p><em>She held out Peia's box to him. He took it suspiciously and read the print. "You can't be serious. </em>This<em> is your brilliant idea? What is this - </em>Weasleys' <em>Wizarding </em>Wheeze?"</p><p>
  <em>As Pansy took it from him, reading it as well, Hermione couldn't help but again smile grimly. "It means we'll be using their family's own product against them. Even if it is from another universe."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Does the blasted stuff even work?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She shifted. "Well, I've never, erm… that's where you come in." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The look he gave her then was lethal. "No." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No, she's right, we have to test it first if she's never used it, Harry," Pansy said, obviously finished reading the small print. She gave him a small, mischievous smile. "I promise I'll be gentle with you." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione quickly shook her head and leaned over, pointing down at the bottom of the box. "No, you shouldn't be the one to do it - look at what it says he'll think of you afterward." </em>
</p><p><em>Pansy read the instructions again before her eyes widened. "Oh Merlin, you're right!" she gasped. "Thank goodness you saw that! No, I suppose </em>you'll<em> have to do it…"</em></p><p>
  <em>Simultaneously, she and Hermione both looked at Harry. His head swiveled from Pansy to Hermione before his eyes widened in dawning - and horrified - realization. "I bloody well think not!" he said vehemently, causing Peia to laugh behind them. "I'll Imperio some seventh year to do it before that happens!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione held out a hand as the volume in the room grew. "Alright, let's all calm down. We've got a great deal more work to do before anyone, erm, uses this on anyone else." She looked back at Harry, whose jaw was tense. "Now, I do have a plan, and it'll sound mad, but I think it could actually work. We've got two objectives to accomplish before Sunday night: Get Ronáld to firmly believe he's no longer interested in me, and build his ego until it's about to burst. We need to make him believe without a shadow of a doubt that he can't possibly lose this bet." </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em> <strong>Two Days Earlier</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Michael Corner was entirely surprised - and more than a little nervous - when the Sovereign State royalty that was Harry Evans cornered him outside the Great Hall after a late breakfast Saturday. "Corner," he said coldly. "We need to talk." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Michael tensed. Those words never boded well, especially not from an Evans. He frantically wracked his brain, trying to remember if he'd done anything that could even be remotely construed as treachery against the Sovereignty, but came up blank. "I- er - yes?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I know about your - feelings for Ginevra." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Michael stiffened in horror, which quickly faded to disbelief as Evans continued matter-of-factly, "Let's just say I've been… neglecting her more than I should be lately. I'm in the middle of a gentlemen's weekend with Weasley - you understand - so I need someone else to show her a good time — take her out to Hogsmeade, make her feel good about herself, keep her busy in the evenings so she doesn't see me around Gryffindor and be reminded of how much she misses me. Can I count on you?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His mouth flopped open. "Y-Yer - I mean, er - Yeah!" Then he shrugged offhandedly, trying to sound less pleased - and intimidated - than he was. "Y'know me, never one to let a lady dow-" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Good." Evans narrowed his eyes and leaned toward him, the shadows of his face expressionless but threatening. Fear again stabbed through Michael's heart as he said in a low voice, "This conversation never occurred." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Michael quickly shook his head in agreement. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Before he knew what was happening, Evans slapped him on the back. "Carry on, Corner." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>As the Eighth Year walked away without a second glance, Michael gasped in a breath and slumped in relief, unable to believe his luck… or Evans' shocking consideration for Ginevra's welfare. Perhaps Evans wasn't such a terrible boyfriend for her after all. And even if he was, well… perhaps this weekend, Michael could convince her otherwise. </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>By dinner on Saturday, it was time to test exactly how committed Ronáld was to ending their 'relationship.' Hermione purposely dressed alluringly, throwing him vampish smile after vampish smile. He resolutely ignored her, flirting very obviously with any women who looked even slightly in his direction and appearing for all the world as if he was having the time of his life doing it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She held back a small but real grin. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>All was going according to plan.</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong> <em>One Day Earlier</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Before the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch match began on Sunday, she and Peia hid under the cover of her Invisibility Cloak in the rafters of the viewing tower directly beside the Gryffindor Quidditch goal posts, Peia to be her second eyes in case she missed any of the quickly moving game. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Apparently, Ronáld was as terrible a Keeper as Ron had initially been, and the Ravenclaws had a brutal offense. The day before, she'd taught herself a very subtle one-two diversion-unification charm that should alter the path of the Quaffle ever-so-slightly… not so it would miss the hoop entirely, which, given how good Ravenclaw apparently was, could be construed as suspicious, but instead would swiftly draw Ronáld and the Quaffle toward each other whenever their trajectories neared, like the opposite ends of two magnets. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He'd have to be more than complete rubbish to miss a giant ball heading straight for his face every time it came at him. </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>In the minutes after the Quidditch match, Harry and Hermione stood beneath the Invisibility Cloak in the men's loo nearest the Gryffindor Common Room, which Hermione had temporarily warded to subconsciously drive people off to a different one. She felt naked, and she shifted uncomfortably in the red dress Pansy had promptly produced after Hermione had consulted with her about how to look brilliant to everyone else but still manage to turn off Ronáld.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When she heard exactly how Susan Bones and now Parvati Patil had joined Ronáld's growing fan club, she slapped his shoulder out of habit.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Harry! You shouldn't have used the Imperius Curse!" </em>
</p><p><em>He glared at her. "Don't </em>ever<em> touch me, Granger." </em></p><p>
  <em>Hermione froze, too late realizing her mistake, and he gave her another dark look before he continued in a low, no-nonsense voice, "It had to be done. I wasn't taking the chance that anyone other than Brown wouldn't have fawned over him otherwise." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She crossed her arms. "I hope you didn't make them sleep with him, too," she spat. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>His glower deepened. "I'm not that depraved. Give them some credit - they decided that all on their own." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She wanted to glare but found she was too tense about pulling off her biggest performance yet to summon the additional energy it required. "Right then. Here." She handed him a galleon. "Send a warming charm at this when it's time for me to come in." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He looked down at it. "What've you done to it?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Protean charm." She held up her own galleon. "I'll feel it too." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He stared at her. "That's a NEWT-level manipulation, Granger." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It isn't quite so difficult. I picked it up a few years ago, actually."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He blinked. His eyes narrowed. "How in the hell are you so bloody good at everything?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione swiftly avoided his piercing stare. "Not at Divination. It's all a bunch of crock, if you ask me." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Abruptly, he grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin. "Don't play dumb; you know exactly what I mean," he hissed. "This entire operation you've designed is the equivalent of a psychological blitz. Pansy might think you're an ally, but I think you're a bloody strategist, and if you really are our age in your universe and you know how to do all of this, I think a lot more's happened where you came from than you're letting on. Now before we do this, I want you to tell me, and this time I want you to make me believe it: which side are you on?"</em>
</p><p><em>She ripped her arm from his grip. "Believe I'm a Crumple-Horned Snorkack for all I care! I only side with my </em>own good conscience,<em> something it seems like this world could use a lot more of!" She straightened her dress before it had the chance to slide down her chest any more than it already had, then glared back at him. "Now, we can dither about discussing my autobiography until the sun goes down, or we can try to save an innocent human being from living in </em>hell <em>before it kills him</em>.<em> Are you going back in there or not?"</em></p><p><em>He pressed his lips together, his gaze cold. "Not until I know you remember all the conditions. Wait for my cue. He spurns you at least three times before you even mention the wager. And if he for whatever reason wants to make it an even bet, if he even </em>mentions<em> Pansy, it's all off." </em></p><p><em>"Of course I remember!" she hissed, lowering a dark gaze on him. "I'm</em> not <em>an idiot." </em></p><p>
  <em>For a moment, he only studied at her icily. "Yes," he said. "That's what concerns me."</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong> <em>One Hour Earlier</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>When Ronáld opened his eyes, gentle rays of early morning light streaming through his chamber's windows, Hermione was leaning on the bedpost at the foot of the bed waiting for him. For a moment, he only stared at her, and she held her breath, her left hand clutching the tangled bedspread, her heart racing in her chest the same way it had for most of a very sleepless eight hours. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Bloody hell," he breathed, "that - that was…" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>His gaze became one of reverent awe, and she knew without a doubt it'd worked. An unspeakable, indescribable wave of resounding relief flooded her tired body, and it took everything she had to withhold a blazingly victorious smile. Instead, she smiled crookedly at him and arched an eyebrow. "Told you I could." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>His awed expression froze, then switched to one of horror, and then of fury. "You little - "</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When he lunged for his wand, tumbling out of the bed in the process, Hermione swiftly leapt up and raced down the stairs to the Common Room. When she saw Colin Creevey, Harry, Ville and a few others lounging near the betting booth, she forced herself to slow down and tried to make it appear as though she was skipping. "Now, now, Ronnie, fair is fair!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ronáld appeared at the staircase, wrenching a robe over his bare chest. "You little bitch!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>In her peripheral vision, she saw a flash of red shoot toward her. She would have fired a Shield Charm but knew My didn't have the ability; she dodged instead, and the coffee table directly beside her exploded. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bloody—! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Both Colin and Harry leapt up. She shoved past the both of them, ripping both Pansy's and Draco's deeds and leads out of their golden suspension and moving as swiftly as she could toward the portrait hole while still appearing halfway dignified. "I saw it on your face the second you woke up!" she trilled over her shoulder.</em>
</p><p><em>Ronáld physically pushed over a chair in his effort to pursue her. "I don't give a blast-headed skrewt's arse about what you </em>thought<em> you saw! Give it </em>back!"</p><p><em>For the briefest of moments, Hermione thought about correcting him - blast-headed skrewts technically didn't </em>have<em> arses - but decided then might not have been the most appropriate time. Thankfully, Colin cut Ronáld off before he made it across the room. "She could take both deeds, that means she won the bet. You can't lie to that metric. They're hers fair and square, Weasley!" </em></p><p><em>"Out of my way, </em>Creevey." <em>Ronáld shoved him aside, but then Harry was there in his place, holding him back. He bellowed after her, "This is over, My! I don't care how good you were last night! You and me - OVER!" </em></p><p>
  <em>As the portrait hole opened and Hermione mentally urged it to hurry, she spun around just inside the entrance. "Fine! If you're going to act this way over a silly little bet, then that's just fine with with me!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As Ronáld kicked aside the already-overturned chair and thundered toward Draco's cage, she flounced out the portrait hole and slammed it shut behind her. </em>
</p><hr/><p>When Hermione didn't say anything for several seconds, Draco finally tore his gaze from the ownership scroll. "Hermione? What did you do?"</p><p>She again shifted, avoiding his inquisitive eyes, and suddenly looked strangely embarrassed. "I, er - may have made a bet I could give him the best night of his life," she muttered.</p><p>His mouth fell open. Of all the things he had ever expected her to say, that <em>certainly</em> wasn't one of them. Suddenly everything - her uncharacteristic choice of attire, why Longbottom and Thomas had thought she'd gotten back with Weasley, Weasley's entire conversation, even - made sense.</p><p>Something wrenched in Draco's stomach, and he stared back down at the deed.</p><p>"And… did you?" he asked hesitantly, though clearly she had or he wouldn't be sitting here holding his own House-Wizard papers right now.</p><p>"No."</p><p>He shouldn't, should<em> not</em> have felt as much relief as that one word caused.</p><p>He quickly looked back at her in confusion as she shifted her long robe aside slightly and pulled something from the sheer stocking along her thigh. She tapped it with her wand and it enlarged, but only slightly, to become a flattened box and small tube that couldn't have been much bigger than his index finger. She handed it to him. "But he sure thinks so."</p><p>His eyes were instantly drawn to the words <strong><em>Night-Long Fantasy Gel </em></strong>scrawled in big pink letters across the top of the box. He frowned, squinting at the subheading beneath it, which proclaimed, <em>A Ladies' Way Out: Make Him Believe He Had The Best Night Of His Life Without Even Touching Him! </em></p><p>His eyes flicked up to hers.</p><p>A wicked grin broke out across his face.</p><p>She mirrored his smile slightly. "Keep going."</p><p>He looked back down, squinting at the tiny print.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>" 'Stuck with a bloke you'd rather not bonk but have no decent way of extraction or avoidance?' " Hermione mumbled out loud in Ronáld's chamber after she changed into lacy pink and white lingerie with a corset and straps and stockings that she planned to promptly burn afterward. " 'Want to maintain your reputation as wonder lover but get unlucky Leopold off your back? In this uniquely WonderWitch anti-love product, you'll find not a love potion but a good old-fashioned way to gracefully avoid an awkward situation with no lasting side-effects… except him always remembering you as the best shag he ever had! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>" 'Instructions: Include in your pre-escape primping a thick coat of our Night-Long Fantasy Gel. Then find a secure location. This step is very important, because once he gets a taste of this, he's not going anywhere for the next eight hours. Next, give him a good kiss on the - Merlin, you can't be serious," she muttered. ('Yes, you have to kiss him once, but think of the hours and perhaps years of pain you'll be spared.') </em>
</p><p>
  <em>" 'The gel should sink in within seconds. Then simply sit back and get out of the way while he does all the work. Expect even the most red-blooded male to wake up thinking of you as a love goddess far too divine for his dull mortal self to ever ask on a date again. Warning: Thrashing and other abrupt movements may occur.' " She shook her head. "Feorge, you buggers." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, it might have worked on Harry when he had Imperio'd Parvati to kiss him and Hermione had Obliviated her memory of it afterward (and his, at his demand), but she still held up the tube of lip gloss and studied it with more than a twinge of trepidation. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Come through for me, baby," she whispered. "You're all I've got." </em>
</p><hr/><p>By the time Draco had finished reading, the sheer brilliance of her deception of Ronáld Weasley had him grinning like Peeves the Poltergeist. That brilliant, <em>brilliant </em>witch! He at once wanted to sweep her off the bed and twirl her or hug her or kiss her or do any number of things that he ultimately didn't because he didn't expect she'd be particularly pleased if he had.</p><p>"You marvelously shifty little<em> inveigler," </em>he breathed, using the same vocabulary word she'd thrown at him weeks earlier.</p><p>She crossed her arms, lifting her chin. "Such <em>eloquent</em> words; certain you know what they mean?"</p><p>He felt another smile tug at his lips, but then a particularly disturbing thought struck him. He looked at her in horror. "Merlin. You didn't have to sit there and watch that, did you? Eight whole hours of - of W-Wea-" his throat constricted and he abruptly felt panicked; he couldn't bring himself to say the name, "-of that <em>weasel</em> making love to himself?"</p><p>Her instantaneously disgusted expression clearly said she had, momentarily chasing away the demons that had policed his mind, his voice, his body and very life for nearly two nightmarish years.</p><p>A real laugh bubbled out of Draco's chest, the first that had spontaneously escaped him since he had watched his mother die. As if that one noise had opened the floodgates of a deep sense of humor he'd for so long feared he'd lost, he reached out and placed his hand on hers, staring somberly into her startled eyes. "Hermione, I'd just like you to know how very grateful I am for that tremendous sacrifice."</p><p>Her serious expression cracked then, too, as if until this point she hadn't quite appreciated the craftiness of what she'd done either. The change lit up her entire face in the widest, most genuinely teasing smile he'd ever seen cross My Granger's countenance. "You bloody well better be. I'm going to have Merlin knows how many nightmares of watching him scream my name whist doing <em>unspeakable</em> things."</p><p>Another laugh burst from his lips, and then they were both laughing, Draco uncontrollably so, as if that was the only thing that could stop the flood of a thousand overwhelming emotions within him from instead surging out the corners of his eyes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Fallout</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Trigger alert: A character does experience a panicky moment this chapter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moment Hermione set foot inside the Great Hall for dinner the next evening, any outside observer would have thought she was a war hero from the way that students old enough to have been privy to the previous night's activities greeted her.</p><p>Colin, with typical starstruck Creevey enthusiasm: "You were bewitching, Lady Evans, simply bewitching! Your odds were twenty to one; Weasley didn't stand a chance!"</p><p>Ernie Macmillan, with a smirk and a once-over that suspiciously resembled a leer: "Well played last night, Evans; well played."</p><p>Padma Patil, with a surprisingly disgusted glance toward a sulking Ronáld: "Good on you; he deserved it."</p><p>Lavender: Nothing but a<em> ha-rumph</em> and a glare.</p><p>Among others.</p><p>With a smug smile, a blasé toss of her hand and an airy declaration of, "Oh, child's play," Hermione gratefully accepted the adulation and the worshipful entourage that accompanied it… mostly because it formed a blockade between her and Ronáld.</p><p>Aside from Lavender, he and the other seventh- and eighth-year boys surrounding him seemed to be among the few who didn't seem halfway entertained by their late-night face-off. In the eight minutes it took her to pile a heap of food on her plate, and then subtly transfer most of it into a container in her robe pocket, Ville, Seamus, Dean, and a few others continued to shoot expressions ranging from vexation to resignation in her direction from the other end of the long Gryffindor table.</p><p><em>Oh, poor things, now they'll be reduced to practicing the Dark Arts on someone who'll actually be able to fire back; whatever shall they do?</em> she thought contemptuously.</p><p>That morning, as soon as she had finished doctoring Draco, they had both collapsed into much-needed unconsciousness: she on a small mattress the Room of Requirement had conjured for her, Draco on the hospital bed. When she'd woken eight hours later - he was still asleep - she'd left him a note in case he woke up and slipped out to the Great Hall to steal them dinner. (She refused to use the side Kitchen entrance for takeaway anymore, even though she supposed House-Witches/Wizards were forced to prepare the Great Hall meals as well.)</p><p>She had been prepared for a full-out battle with Ronáld the moment she encountered him, if his reaction that morning had been any indication of what was to come, but to her immense surprise, except for an occasional glower at any burst of laughter in the vicinity - clearly, he thought it was aimed at him - Hermione had actually caught the youngest male Weasley glancing at her once or twice with a - dare she say it - <em>dazed</em> amazement that made him almost resemble the Ron of Universe A.</p><p>As if he really <em>did</em> think she was a love goddess, or whatever rubbish the Fantasy Gel had coined.</p><p>An actual, spontaneous smile slipped across her face while Colin and Parvati and some seventh-year girls chattered around her.</p><p>
  <em>Fred and George Weasley, you wily geniuses.</em>
</p><p>Perhaps this would be easier than she'd thought…</p><p>Hermione eventually managed to disentangle herself from her fan base and exited the Great Hall, taking the shrunken receptacle of pilfered dinner along with her. The arrival of October had brought with it the beginnings of brilliant autumn colors and shortening days, and the waning natural light cast dark shadows on the vestibule and hallways in the dusky medium between daylight and torchlight.</p><p>Harry had not been at dinner, she'd noticed, and the observation set her nerves on edge. As soon as she'd agreed to the even-exchange wager of Pansy for Draco, she knew he would be angry...</p><p>But anger couldn't even begin to to describe the expression she'd seen in his eyes yesterday night before she departed for the eighth-year boys' dorm.</p><p>He hadn't been present for her conversation with Pansy yesterday morning, when the blue-eyed woman had grabbed Hermione's arm, looked resolutely into her eyes, and said, <em>"Hermione… I want you to do whatever it takes to get Draco out of there. Whatever it takes. Even if it takes me."</em></p><p>
  <em>It took Hermione a second to realize what she was implying.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Pansy, it shouldn't—"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I know it shouldn't, Hermione, and I know Harry said to call the whole thing off if it does. But don't — I don't — I want you to go forward with it. They don't hate me quite as much as they did Draco. I'll be safer there than he is."</em>
</p><p>Hermione didn't at all agree with Pansy's line of reasoning, not after having seen both Ronáld and Ginevra in action on multiple occasions. But she also know how she would feel if the worlds had been flipped: if she was standing in Pansy's position in Universe A, and she had no choice but to sit and wait while Pansy Parkinson tried to save Harry Potter from a vicious Bellatrix Lestrange or Lucius Malfoy.</p><p>Hermione would have done anything to help.</p><p>But she suspected that Harry Evans would not be quite so understanding. He certainly wouldn't forgive her for gambling with Pansy's life, of that much she was sure. For the hundredth time, she wished they didn't share a common room—</p><p>
  <em>"Expulso!"</em>
</p><p>Adrenaline exploded through her chest. Instinctively, she flung herself into a crouch as the Dark Curse smashed into the wall overhead - exactly where her torso had been a moment before. Blue sparks rained down around her, and before she could stop herself or think of what "My" would do, Hermione spun on one knee, wand outstretched.</p><p>Ginevra Weasley advanced on her out of the shadows, her eyes spitting fire.</p><p>"How <em>dare</em> you!"</p><p>"Ginny—?" Hermione choked out before she added a hasty "-evra." She scrambled backward as Ginevra stalked toward her, and jumped to her feet when the youngest Weasley pointed her wand at her face. Though she was will aware of the answer, she shrilled, "Are you mad? What in Merlin's name has gotten into you?"</p><p>"Really? What's gotten into me?" Ginevra snarled. "How dare <em>you</em> embarrass my family like you did!"</p><p>She fired a jet of purple light at Hermione, who ducked; the spell hit the gilded statue of Merlin towering some feet behind her instead, and a thick sheath of ice crusted over its golden surface.</p><p>Before the redhead could cast another curse, Hermione was moving. She dodged behind the statue, gritting her teeth as she forcibly held down her wand arm, struggled to leash the nearly overpowering impulses in her body to automatically defend herself. She absolutely could not duel with Ginevra, couldn't risk the questions that would most certainly be asked when Hermione demonstrated a proficiency that My clearly lacked.</p><p>"Well, what did you expect me to do, hm?" she shouted from behind the statue, trying desperately to stay in character. "I couldn't just let him break up with me without a fight!"</p><p>Ginevra let out a screechy laugh. "Oh, that's rich. You, fight for something? Look at you, hiding behind <em>Merlin.</em> You couldn't even disarm a first year. But it's always <em>all</em> about you, isn't it? You didn't have to steal our House-Wizard while you were at it!"</p><p>Oh bloody Nora, her former friend sounded legitimately unhinged, and Hermione saw the possibility of ending the standoff diplomatically slipping like water through her fingers. <em>Disarm and Obliviate,</em> she decided - she'd just have to take the risk that erasing Ginevra's memory of her un-My-like dueling ability wouldn't cause a bigger problem than the one she was facing right now.</p><p>The torchlights lining the hallway flickered to life as night fell, and Hermione chanced a glance through the gap in Merlin's crooked elbow to evaluate Ginevra's position. "Everyone there knows it was an even deal; I didn't steal him!"</p><p>The redhead was prowling back and forth several feet away, wand dangling, poised, at her side. "Oh no, that's right, you just <em>shagged</em> my <em>brother</em> for him," she retorted sarcastically.</p><p>"It isn't my fault he was stupid enough to take the bet in the first place," Hermione snapped.</p><p>She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. But it was too late.</p><p>For a moment, there was only silence, and Hermione used it to suck in a breath, grip her wand and mentally and physically prepare herself for what she knew was coming.</p><p>Then, Ginevra's face morphed into an expression of almost crazed fury. "You - You—" she spluttered. Her mouth pulled back in a snarl. <em>"Crucio!"</em></p><p>Hermione yanked her wand upward to cast the Shield Charm. Before she could, however, a blue shield that was not hers burst out in front of her, followed in quick succession by a red jet of light - not another Cruciatus Curse, but instead a Disarming Charm that yanked Ginevra's wand from her hands. Hermione jerked in surprise as the Shield shimmered, sending Ginevra's curse harmlessly bouncing off it into the wall.</p><p>Morgana... who had unexpectedly come to her rescue? Harry?</p><p>Hope blossomed in her heart, and she swiftly spun to look behind her.</p><p>She could not have been more shocked to see Professor Snape easily catch Ginevra's wand in one hand.</p><p>"One hundred points from Gryffindor and detention to you both for dueling in the hallways," he drawled, stepping in front of the Merlin statue, his back to Hermione. Hermione spluttered at the unfair punishment as he continued to directly address Ginevra, "If it's a full-out <em>catfight</em> you wanted, you should have dragged her into an abandoned classroom and locked the door."</p><p>"What? She goaded me into it!" Ginevra spat. "She's the only one who deserves detention; d'you have any idea what she's done?"</p><p>"I'm sorry, you seem to be confusing me with someone who actually gives a whit about your frivolous student drama. Now if you question my discernment again, it'll be, oh… five hundred points, one month's detention, and no wand." As if to make his point, he waggled hers in the air.</p><p>She scowled at him for longer than Hermione thought was appropriate for a student to glare at a professor before she bit out, "Fine." She held out her hand. "Can I go, then?"</p><p>After a minute, Snape tossed her her wand. She snatched it out of the air and, with one last, murderous look at Hermione, stalked away and out of sight.</p><p>From behind the statue, Hermione swiftly debated how to most effectively slip away as quickly as the redhead had. Pansy had told her that, as far as she knew, Snape had never played sides like he had in Universe A, and was in fact the only Slytherin she could name who not only wasn't serving some kind of sentence, but who the Sovereignty actually seemed to <em>favor.</em> Based on the reactions of her classmates, Hermione assumed she made a fairly convincing My, and she been practicing Occlumency religiously since she'd arrived, but she certainly wouldn't put it past this Snape - or the Snape from her own universe, for that matter - to use Legilimency on her if she slipped up in the slightest.</p><p>Unfortunately, the still bizarrely well-attired professor turned back toward her before she could escape, the gleaming chain of a silver pocketwatch hanging from a debonair suit vest just visible beneath his dark robes. "Evans. Dissent in the ranks?"</p><p><em>Damn.</em> What use were eight hundred galleon shoes when they made this much bloody noise?!</p><p>"Why do <em>I</em> deserve detention? I didn't do anything," she whined, partly for the stated reason, but mostly because the prospect of spending more time with the extremely perceptive - and apparently well-connected - Sovereignty professor than she had to could potentially lead to disaster.</p><p>He rolled his eyes. "Hm, let's see, do you think she would want to kill you more, or less, if I gave only her detention, and not you?"</p><p>Hermione's lips parted in surprise. She hastily shut her mouth as soon as she realized they had. "I - er -"</p><p>"I - er," he mimicked before crossing his arms. "You've been a busy girl, I hear."</p><p>"I thought you didn't give a whit about frivolous student drama," she retorted snottily.</p><p>Snape straightened from his previously relaxed stance and eyed her appraisingly. "I do when it involves sudden ownership transfers of very notable House-Wizards."</p><p>The hair on the back of her neck rose, and a horrified realization washed over her.</p><p>
  <em>Oh Godric, he's going to use Legilimency right now!</em>
</p><p>Her heart struggled to pound rapidly while her mind struggled to keep it from doing just that. If Snape saw anything, <em>any</em> memory she didn't want him to, which was virtually 99.9% of them, then it - everything - was over.</p><p>
  <em>No, don't think like that! Right, stay calm, stay calm…</em>
</p><p>Hermione focused on inhaling and exhaling very evenly through her nose. On the surface, she shrugged carelessly. "Oh, that." She smirked and casually stuck a hand in her robe pocket. "I knew taking that Fusty out from under his nose would wind up my filthy, cheating ex-boyfriend." She raised her eyebrows, casually studying the manicured nails of her free hand. "And it <em>certainly</em> did."</p><p>"Please. You and your little boy toy have had lovers spats for years. Yet you went for the jugular now." Snape cocked his head at her, his gaze probing hers. "Why?"</p><p>In her pocket, her fingers fumbled to open the shrunken bag of Wizard Wheezes (after she'd used the Nose-Bleed Nougat to escape her second Dark Arts class, she never went anywhere without them). Desperately she wandlessly summoned an item she feared she might soon need.</p><p>"No, <em>he</em> hasn't broken up with <em>me</em> in years," she corrected, reciting the story she'd practiced with Pansy enough times that weekend she could say it in her sleep. "And for an ill-bred, pigeon-headed Old-Blood?" She sniffed. "It's insulting."</p><p>She felt the exact moment Snape subtly began to enter her mind.</p><p>Immediately, she dropped the Decoy Detonator, and could only hope it would begin to scamper down the hall. Then she forced herself to relax, to appear like she hadn't the slightest idea of what he was doing, while focusing on any memories of Ronáld - and Ron - snogging Lavender —</p><p>Where was it, where <em>was</em> it…?!</p><p>BANG!</p><p>"Oh!" Immediately, Hermione jerked away from the Potions professor's piercing dark eyes and placed a hand over her heart. Theatrically, she widened her eyes and spun toward the sound. "What was that?"</p><p>A puff of dark smoke belched out from around the corner. Snape blinked and furrowed his brow for a moment before he drew his wand. "That's strange." Hermione didn't look him in the face as he stepped past her. "Stay here," he ordered, one Hermione immediately knew she would not be following.</p><p>"Why? To watch you chase after Peeves?" she scoffed, already backing up down the hallway in the opposite direction. "Hardly; I have more important things to do with my time."</p><p>In a blink, he turned back around and pointed his wand at her, his gaze deadly serious.</p><p>Hermione's feet, and heart, stopped moving.</p><p>"You still have detention."</p><p>She let out a breath of relief, and clenched her hands to keep them from shaking. "Whatever," she said irreverently, spinning on her heel and marching away without a second glance.</p><p>As soon as she turned the corner, she transfigured her shoes into flats and began to run.</p><p>Adrenaline saturated her system; at once, after frantically doing all she could to shield her thoughts from Snape's percipient gaze, every doubt and fear she'd had since she'd started taking more risks in this Universe, every ounce of the constant, lurking terror of potentially being found out, or losing Pansy or Draco or <em>both</em> in her gamble last night, surged through her like a bursting dam.</p><p>Truly, Hermione hadn't the slightest idea of how she'd managed to remain undetected for as long as she had; it wasn't as though she was a brilliant actress. Sure, she'd become more more comfortable feigning vacuousness in relatively controlled situations, and had even begun to snap out My-like, attitude-filled remarks when she <em>didn't</em> mean to, like around Pansy or Harry, or that final, fatal comment to Ginevra. But when her life, or someone else's life, was in jeopardy, pretending to be insouciant, unconcerned My while trying to reign in Hermione Granger's knee-jerk survival responses and data-fueled actions was an entirely different story.</p><p>Bloody Morgana, what if Snape had <em>seen</em> something? Hermione didn't think he'd had the chance to get past her chosen memories before the Decoy exploded, but… what if he had? Would he report his suspicions to a higher authority?</p><p>And, perhaps not as pressing of a question but certainly as important: why, <em>why</em> was she making long-term moves like bloody <em>stealing</em> a highly visible Sovereignty prisoner like Draco Malfoy when she wasn't even certain of how long she was going to <em>be</em> in this Universe?</p><p>With every bone in her body, Hermione refused to regret removing Draco from the torturous conditions in which he'd been held captive, but it was clear now that she had severely miscalculated how upset the Weasleys who <em>weren't</em> under the lingering effects of Night-Long Fantasy Gel would be about it. As she sprinted up the final four sets of staircases to the seventh floor, Hermione didn't need a reading from Trelawney's tea leaves to foresee that having Dark Arts-loving Universe B Ginevra as an enemy was going to be an absolute nightmare, and yet another tangible threat to look out for that she absolutely did not need.</p><p>The sliver of jubilance at successfully extracting Draco that she had allowed herself at dinner was long extinguished as, like poison, a better understanding of the new and different forms of danger the action could have very well put them all in seeped through her.</p><p>What would happen to Draco and Pansy if, Merlin forbid, someone finally <em>did</em> see through her charade? Or when she finally discovered how to return home to Universe A and did so, whichever came first? (Silently, Hermione swore she'd be damned if it was the former.)</p><p>There was still so much she didn't know about the Sovereignty's legal system, something she needed to rectify <em>immediately.</em> What were her rights if she was accused of misdoing? As an Elite, she suspected she was entitled to some benefit of the doubt or due process at the very least... but then, as it always did, her memory flashed back to the mysterious Sovereignty official she'd seen on the night of the Hogwarts Express, and the woman's demand that <em>any</em> misconduct be reported for skilled interrogation.</p><p>After her own 'interrogation' at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione was prepared to do <em>whatever</em> it took to avoid being subjected to another like it, in any universe.</p><p>With each turn of the staircase she took, she told herself that if Snape had managed to see a suspicious memory in her mind, if he'd suspected anything in the<em> least,</em> he wouldn't have simply allowed her to waltz away while he chased after some noise and a little smoke. Surely he would have presumed that the smoke had been part of the ruse, and stopped her on the spot.</p><p>...wouldn't he have?</p><p>Winded, sweaty and emotionally spent, she all but staggered to a stop outside the Room of Requirement door, cagily doing a security sweep of the empty hallway before giving herself a moment to catch her breath and pull herself together. In the last few minutes, her anxiety had faded to a mixture of knackered numbness and impending dread. It was never a good sign when curling into a ball under the duvet atop the mattress from which she'd roused herself only two hours earlier abruptly seemed like an appropriate course of action. Given her current condition, she hoped to goodness Draco would still be asleep.</p><p>Of course, it was just her luck he wasn't.</p><p>Instead, the platinum-haired Slytherin was standing with his back to her, rummaging through the medical supplies in the Eighteenth Century-era bureau beside his bed. Between the time she'd left and now, he had changed from the filth-covered rags she'd unhappily become used to seeing on him to a fresh set of clothes she assumed the Room of Requirement had provided: a pale gray, hooded sweatshirt that matched the color of his eyes, darker gray slacks, and trainers that looked like they fit him.</p><p>He'd stiffened when she entered; in the dresser's ovoid mirror she could see his gaze instantly jump to the reflection of the Room's entranceway behind him. When he saw her, he visibly relaxed, his wary expression softening. With unevenly shorn hair that fell slightly past his shoulders, casual clothing and tired but now faintly sparkling eyes, he continued his pattern of neither looking nor acting like the Draco Malfoy of her world when he said brightly in greeting, "Hermione, did you know this room can actually…"</p><p>Abruptly, he trailed off. She supposed he must have gotten a good look at her, because he turned around entirely, leaning back against the cabinet to close the drawer he'd been poking through.</p><p>"Something's wrong," he noted, his eyes perspicaciously scanning her face from beneath the fringe of blond messily cascading over his forehead, as if he possessed the ability read the answer to his own inquiry there.</p><p>Yes, something very much was, but Hermione wasn't prepared to discuss it with him - not after giving him so much hope this morning that he was finally free of that hell.</p><p>Even so, she found she no longer had the energy to devise a decent excuse, or to meet his banter, or to pretend that everything was perfectly alright. She so was tired of running. She was so tired of <em>fighting</em>, especially in yet another war in a dark world that did not belong to her.</p><p>She was just… tired.</p><p>"Nothing's wrong," she said hollowly. Her tongue felt numb in her mouth; the words sounded like someone else was speaking them. Before he could pursue the blatant falsity of that statement, she removed the container of pilfered Great Hall refreshments from her pocket and enlarged it, limply holding it out to him. "Here. Baked pumpkin and Yorkshire Pudding tonight, if you can stomach it. It was either that or black pudding, which I thought might be a bit much."</p><p>Draco didn't even reach for it, though he must have been starving. Instead, he crossed his arms and laced her with the same doubtful, concerned expression he used whenever she lied to him and he didn't buy it. Bizarrely enough, it was identical to the look Harry Potter also gave her whenever she would push herself too far past her limits and then tell him she was fine, like Draco <em>knew</em> her as well as Harry did when he didn't, he couldn't possibly.</p><p>For some reason, that single look lit a fuse to Hermione's frayed emotions.</p><p>"Oh, don't <em>look</em> at me like that, Draco, like you have some idea of what I'm thinking!" she exclaimed, meeting his gaze forcefully. "Honestly, it's nothing I want to talk about, so just leave it be!"</p><p>When she caught her breath, his open expression had shuttered.</p><p>Her stomach clenched in guilt. <em>Yes,</em> she was on edge, but Draco wasn't at fault. She knew what it was like to accidentally be on the exploding end of someone's temper, and he hadn't deserved that.</p><p>She bit her lip and stepped forward without looking at him, all but shoving the boxy package into his hands. "You should eat this so we can go. It's getting late," she muttered.</p><p>He accepted it without a word.</p><p>"Who's Head Boy?" he asked after several painfully long minutes of silence.</p><p>Hermione paused, her hand inside one of the medical cabinet's drawers, where she'd obstinately busied herself adding any supplies she thought might be useful to her bag of Wizard Wheezes. She almost asked how he knew she was Head Girl at all, before she remembered the Head Girl badge that was usually pinned to her robes.</p><p>"Harry Evans," she said. She hesitated before adding, "He helped with this entire thing, actually. Getting you out." If Draco didn't find out then, she reasoned, he would in less than an hour.</p><p>"Evans is <em>helping</em> you? Help <em>me?"</em></p><p>At the incredulousness in his voice, Hermione dropped one last container of burn cream into her bag and shut the drawer. When she turned toward Draco, he had set the half-empty container down on the bed and shifted to focus entirely on her, his expression astonished.</p><p>"No, I suppose you wouldn't know, would you? That he apparently isn't entirely loyal to the Sovereignty," she hypothesized. She expected the government would have Ordered Draco to provide the names of any traitors in their midst as soon as he'd been captured, so Harry certainly would have been caught by now if he had.</p><p>But Draco surprised her when his brow burrowed, and he shook his head. "No," his gray gaze became distant, "I did." After a few seconds, he gingerly pulled his knees to his chest with the smallest of winces, wrapping his arms around them. "Well, I was never told of any formal arrangement, but I always strongly suspected."</p><p>Hermione frowned, cautiously sitting down in the chair beside the bed. "Then wouldn't the Sovereignty have, erm... been able to learn that information from you?" she asked delicately, unsure of the best way to phrase that question, if there even was one.</p><p>After a moment, Draco blinked, his eyes thoughtful. "Evans must have gotten hold of my lead somehow, right after it happened, and Ordered me not to say anything before I was even conscious. I wasn't… compelled to say his name, like I was others, when the time came." He bowed his head, looking away. "I actually felt like I <em>couldn't</em> say his name. So I chose not to."</p><p>"Protecting his own skin instead of yours. Typical," she muttered.</p><p>He glanced back at her. "That's what I meant before. Evans is a lone wolf. Even I was surprised when he occasionally came through for us, before… everything just went to complete and utter hell." He shook his head with a faraway expression, as if he were reliving a memory, before he refocused on her. His sombre expression became curious. "How in Merlin's name did you convince him to participate in a plan that relied on something with the words 'fantasy gel?' "</p><p>A short, mirthless laugh escaped her, both at her memory of Harry's original reaction and the reminder of the strong likelihood that he, like Ginevra, would try to curse her - or worse - as soon as she stepped into the Head Common Room. "I didn't. I believe his exact words were, 'You can't be serious. <em>This</em> is your brilliant idea?'"</p><p>Draco chuckled at that, causing Hermione to relax slightly — he mustn't've still been too terribly upset with her for exploding on him earlier. A tentative smile briefly tugged at her lips before she continued, "No, it was all Pansy, of course."</p><p>He stilled. For a moment, she could have sworn his eyes shone with tears before he blinked rapidly and looked away. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly rough.</p><p>Hermione frowned at his reaction; she distinctly remembered Pansy saying that Draco had been one of the few who'd known she and Harry were dating. "I mean, she insisted he help me. He actually listens to her; it's shocking."</p><p>For a moment, Draco's brow furrowed deeply. Then he turned his head back toward her, profound bewilderment etched into every corner of his face. "She… <em>insisted</em>?" he echoed, sounding thunderstruck. When Hermione nodded, his pale face turned nearly translucent before her eyes. "You mean, she's… she isn't—?"</p><p>As he uncharacteristically grasped for words, Hermione suddenly realized what he was trying to say.</p><p>She felt the blood drain from her own face. Sweet Merlin… in all of their conversations, had neither she - nor Draco - really never mentioned Pansy? And had he… in that time, had he always believed—?!</p><p>Hermione sat up quickly. "Draco," she said softly, certain the horror and apology she felt was clearly reflected in her eyes, "She's alive."</p><p>His eyes widened, something in his expression collapsing; he gripped the sheets beside him and choked in a breath, his jaw set. For several long seconds, he didn't speak, his shoulders heaving with far too even of breaths, and Hermione suddenly guessed that <em>this</em> was why he had never once spoken about or asked after his Hogwarts friends: because he must have believed them to be dead, or to be suffering a terrible fate similar to his that he couldn't help or change.</p><p>She was on her feet before her mind had even registered that she'd stood. She'd been utterly devastated the countless times she had nearly lost Harry and Ron, even now - though she didn't think she'd lost them fully yet; she still reserved hope that this was just a temporary stop, and she would find a way back to Universe A.</p><p>But she couldn't even begin to imagine how awful it would be to believe with finality <em>for years</em> that her closest friends were dead.</p><p>Slowly, tentatively, Hermione extended her hand, resting it on Draco's tense arm, if only to remind him that he wasn't alone. He shuddered once and looked over at her in surprise, visibly fighting to restrain the myriad of emotions rapidly crossing his face. She gave him a weak, wavering smile of reassurance, tears pricking at her own eyes.</p><p>Briefly, the taut muscles in his face softened. Reaching across his torso, he placed his own hand atop hers, holding it tightly, and inhaled a deep breath. Something warm pulled at her chest as his head turned back forward, gaze distant - haunted.</p><p>"They told me," he whispered, voice choked, "They told me… she was dead. I've thought…" He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath, shaking his head, "All this time, I've thought…"</p><p>Hermione at once hated 'them' with every breath in her being.</p><p>Moments like this jarred her from her almost-constant anxiety over being discovered or never returning home. Her heart broke for him, for Pansy, for the lives of so many decent human beings in this universe that had been so cruelly, so senselessly ripped apart.</p><p>"Draco..." she began softly, then stopped. She wanted to offer words of comfort, but she didn't think anything she could say could ease the pain of the egregious injustice he'd experienced. So she simply continued to stand alongside him, hand on his arm.</p><p>"Is… Is she alright?" Draco asked hoarsely after a minute. "Is she... How is she with you?"</p><p>"She's fine." Hermione gave his arm a gentle squeeze before she pulled back her hand and sat down across from him on the bed, curling a leg beneath her. "She's been My's House-Witch, since the Intervention - er, war - ended."</p><p>As his expression transfigured into one of utmost horror, she added reassuringly, "She was never treated like you were. From what she's told me, I think her situation was comparatively much better than most of the others. Certainly she isn't treated like a House-Witch at all, now that I'm here." She let out a frustrated breath, shoving her fingers through her hair. "Merlin, Draco, I could've sworn I'd mentioned her before! I - I had no idea, or I would have said something sooner..."</p><p>He shook his head. "It's alright. I didn't mention her, either."</p><p>For a moment, he stared ahead at nothing at all. Then, he abruptly stood. "Can we go?" His voice was quiet, the words more a statement than a question. He walked unevenly to the base of the bed, his limp from the badly healed leg injury the Gryffindors had inflicted on him weeks ago painfully obvious. His trembling fingers lifted the discarded Invisibility Cloak. "I'd like to go now."</p><p>With an understanding deeper than he perhaps realized, Hermione achingly watched him hurry toward the door. He paused in his donning of the Cloak to wait for her as she grasped her things and accompanied him out.</p><p>Draco didn't say a single word in the ten minutes it took them to to reach the landscape painting behind which the Head Commons were located. A moment before she spoke the password, his hand emerged out from the folds of the Invisibility Cloak, lightly resting on her arm to stop her.</p><p>"Does Pansy know about… how I was — kept?" he asked haltingly.</p><p>Hermione looked toward his voice, but her eyes only met an empty hallway. She shook her head. "I didn't want to worry her more than she already was. I asked Peia not to say too much, but, well - you know Peia. I can only hope she didn't. I would think all Pansy knows is whatever she assumed from my desperation to get you out and simply knowing the Weasleys had you."</p><p>For several seconds, only silence met her words. "I'd be very — grateful, if you didn't tell her," he eventually said quietly. "Or… anyone, who might not know."</p><p>Though Draco clearly wasn't Harry Potter — their personalities were very different — it was in moments like this that he reminded Hermione of him<em> so much.</em> But this man had experienced horrors that even Harry hadn't known, and the fact that he was handling every awful thing that had happened to him with such mental soundness, with so much <em>dignity</em> was truly nothing short of remarkable.</p><p>"Of course. You have my word," she said.</p><p>When he murmured a thank you, Hermione turned back toward the portrait, bidding it open.</p><p>Pansy and Harry were sitting together on the sofa facing the portrait hole. Pansy looked to be asleep, curled up against Harry's chest dressed in a pair of My's designer jeans and a pale blue sweater. Harry was staring broodingly off into space, rolling the end of a small lock of her hair between his fingers.</p><p>As soon as Hermione stepped into the common room, he stiffened. Pansy must have felt him move, because she immediately twitched and then sat upright, twisting toward the portrait hole.</p><p>Her blue eyes widened. She stood quickly.</p><p>Draco stepped up beside Hermione, holding the Invisibility Cloak limply at his side. For a moment, he and Pansy simply stared at each other, both rigidly motionless, before Pansy choked back a small laugh that could have also been a cry, clapped her hands over her month, and burst into tears.</p><p>Draco had hardly taken another uneven step forward when she dashed across the common room and into his arms.</p><p>He hugged her fiercely, his eyes squeezed shut. "I've missed you, Pans," he whispered hoarsely.</p><p>She only began to weep harder.</p><p>Watching the two best friends reunite, a thousand emotions suddenly, unexpectedly welled behind Hermione's own eyes.</p><p>For a moment, she found she couldn't breathe.</p><p>Swiftly, anguish and misery and the worst kind of longing penetrated her chest like a knife. She gasped in a soft, surprised breath and took several steps away from the Slytherins, gripping the banister of the stairs up to her quarters while she fought to send air to her lungs. Tendrils of despair scrabbled at the edges of her mind; her body desperately wanted to panic, and she fought to rationalize back the nearly overpowering urge.</p><p>Usually, Hermione was able to stop herself before her thoughts went too far down this dark path. There was no reason for this to be happening now. She'd been able to keep it together this long. She was fine. She was<em> fine.</em> She was-</p><p>But she wasn't. She wasn't fine at all. <em>Nothing</em> about <em>any</em> of this was fine, and while she was deeply grateful for Draco and Pansy's reunion, it only served to remind her of how very far away she was from having any of her own.</p><p>For all intents and purposes, she was still very much on her own in this foreign, hostile world. There was no Harry or Ron or even fellow DA or Order of the Phoenix members at her back who she could count on for support should the countless threats swirling around her materialize. Instead, she was stuck, and for all the reading and research, she still didn't know how to <em>fix</em> it.</p><p>The loneliness and powerlessness of that hurt almost as much as she remembered the first moments of the Cruciatus Curse.</p><p>Before Hermione could beat the hastiest of retreats to her bedroom, she sensed a looming presence behind her.</p><p>Her throat choked with dread.</p><p>She knew exactly who it was, but she didn't want to fight anymore, didn't want to be here <em>at all</em> anymore. She just wanted to get out, to go <em>home.</em></p><p>But she couldn't avoid him.</p><p>Blinking rapidly, she steeled her jaw and fiercely swallowed back her emotions before turning around.</p><p>Harry Evans was standing a few feet away, his eyes dark.</p><p>"Jumpy," he noted in a low voice. "So you know what you did."</p><p>A wave of panic and hopelessness even stronger than the first surged through her mind. This callous, cold man wearing the skin of her very best friend embodied everything that was wrong with this world, and <em>oh,</em> this was not what she needed...</p><p>Desperately, she used all the acting skills she'd acquired in the past month to will away any sign of what she was very afraid could be an impending breakdown. Lifting her chin, she crossed her arms and met his own hard gaze with one of her own.</p><p>"I knew I'd win," she replied just as lowly.</p><p>He stepped closer to her, his expression taut with anger. "I don't care. You don't gamble when people's lives are at stake!"</p><p>"In case you didn't notice, someone's life was already at stake," she hissed, glancing back at Pansy and Draco; they had pulled back from the hug, but only slightly, and Pansy's tear-stained face was beaming with joy as she placed her hands on both sides of his face. Hermione's temples began to throb, and she erected a sound barrier between them to ensure they didn't hear the conversation before focusing back on Harry.</p><p>He was studying her calculatingly. "Then his life is more valuable to you than hers, is it."</p><p>Hermione's mouth flopped open. "Now you're putting words in my mouth! That isn't true at all! Pansy <em>wanted—"</em></p><p>"Don't you dare bring her into this!" he snapped. "She has a big heart; people like her will willingly sacrifice themselves for the good of others without a second thought. But from what she's said of you, I hadn't expected you to take advantage of that." His eyes narrowed. "Apparently, I was wrong."</p><p>"Oh, and you would have never done the same," she shot back. "If Pansy had been sitting where Draco was and it was the only option you had, you wouldn't have hesitated a second to sacrifice me or any one of your so-called friends, for that matter!"</p><p>Harry's jaw tightened.</p><p>She knew he would. He did, too.</p><p>He took another step toward her, so close now he was directly in her personal space, his eyes icy, and <em>why</em> was this conversation still going on? As the walls of her mind swiftly began to close in on her, she stepped backward, away from him, frantically forcing herself to breathe. She couldn't lose control in front of Harry Evans, couldn't lose control at <em>all,</em> but she doubted the only course of action her mind wanted to take — tearing away from him and sprinting from the common room to somewhere, anywhere without people — wouldn't arouse suspicion.</p><p>
  <em>Focus on breathing. Focus on breathing- </em>
</p><p>"Let's be clear on one thing," he growled. "Whatever I was to you in your other world, be assured that we will not be friends in this one."</p><p>Oh, she was only too aware that he wasn't her beloved Harry, but his words still stabbed her straight through the heart.</p><p>"I'm trying to help!" Hermione cried, the pain of the stress and fear she'd been trying to bottle ever since she'd been flung into this twisted universe ripping through her. "Why are you determined to hate me?"</p><p>His eyes flicked up and down her once before they frigidly returned to her gaze. "Because you never know who's going to decide to betray you."</p><p>With that, he brushed past her, completely unaware of the emotional train wreck gathering momentum inside her. With a wave of his wand, he removed the sound ward he must have noticed her erect.</p><p>Hermione continued to stare blindly at the spot where he'd stood, the mahogany wall across from her wavering and then blurring.</p><p>Her eyes burned. Something wet dripped down her cheek. It jarred her from her stupor; blinking rapidly, she swiped the back of her hand across her face and turned around, and then she was in her bedroom, though she didn't remember climbing the stairs to get there.</p><p>Without a clear thought directing her actions, she dropped to her knees beside the bed and pulled the shrunken knapsack holding her most precious things from her pocket. Enlarging it, she flung it down on the Gryffindor red duvet and began to paw through it frantically. Distantly, she was aware tears were streaming down her face, but she didn't care. She flung aside Wheeze after Wheeze in her desperation to find —</p><p>A sweater.</p><p>Her fingers closed around the starchy material, and she closed her eyes in relief. Gripping it like a lifeline, she pulled it from the bag. It was blue and tweedy and well-worn now, with a big gold H woven onto the front. Even though it was Harry's, Ron had occasionally borrowed it as well during the Horcrux search, and it smelled like the both of them, with the faintest remnants of a home-cooked meal from the Burrow.</p><p>She clutched it to her chest as if it was the most valuable jewel on earth.</p><p>To her, it was.</p><p>Holding it to her face, she breathed in its scent, remembering Ron's laugh, and how whenever her temper snapped around him his immediate cringe would be swiftly followed by a puppy-dog expression that always melted her, and Harry's understanding smile, and how he'd tried to make her dance and laugh again when Ron had temporarily left them. She remembered Ginny's playful teasing, and the Weasleys' warm faces and the happy, oblivious chatter of her parents as they talked away on their couch right before she'd Obliviated every single memory they had of her and sent them away on a plane to Australia where she didn't even know if they would be safe, and <em>oh god —</em></p><p>She gasped sharply, choking back more tears. She missed them, she missed them <em>so bloody much</em> that her soul<em> ached. </em>She hadn't asked for this. She hadn't <em>wanted</em> this. She didn't want to be afraid anymore, didn't want to sneak and lie and fight anymore — not when the war against Voldemort that she had, for all intents and purposes, been fighting since she was eleven had finally<em> just ended,</em> for Godric's sake.</p><p>What had she done in a past life or lives for some cruel force to see it fit to send her into a world perhaps darker than the one from which she'd originated, at the very moment when she would have <em>finally</em> found some relief in her own?</p><p>Breathing rapidly, she hunched over herself and the sweater, gripping it so tightly her nails dug through the weave and into the skin of her palm. Desperately, she resisted giving herself over entirely to the frighteningly powerful pull of the frantic despair that threatened to unhinge the precious rationality of her mind, and the firmly composed grasp over her own destiny that she had been so very careful to sustain through even her darkest days…</p><p>Behind her, the bedroom door quietly opened with a click.</p><p>It sounded like a thunderclap.</p><p>Hermione sucked in a soft breath and roughly scrubbed at her tear-soaked eyes, her reactions sluggish. Certainly it couldn't have been Pansy or even Draco, not so soon after their reunion, so it must have been Harry, the heartless <em>toad. </em>Whatever else he wanted to rub in her face, she couldn't face him again, not now, not like this —</p><p>"Hermione."</p><p>The voice was gentle; it sounded concerned.</p><p>It wasn't Harry's.</p><p>For a moment, Hermione froze, before she began to move again, more quickly. If Harry was bad, this was worse. She <em>wouldn't</em> let him see her falling apart, not when his very life now depended on her keeping herself very, very put together. Her fingers clumsily scrambled to open the knapsack, but her vision blurred in front of her. She couldn't - she couldn't find the right folds —</p><p>"Hermione, please stop."</p><p>As if he'd crouched down next to her, she suddenly sensed his presence beside her, that and the crisp scent of pine from the Room of Requirement's washbasin soap. She didn't look at him, didn't want to face that inexplicable, knowing look that would almost certainly be in his eyes, and she blinked back another hot wave of tears.</p><p>"Hermione…"</p><p>He sounded almost as pained as she felt, though she didn't see how that could be possible. Why should he care what happened to her when he'd just found one of his closest friends again? Why was he here at all?</p><p>A hand tentatively touched her wrist, sending warmth through her entire icy arm.</p><p>"Just go <em>away,</em> Draco!" she cried, jerking away from him. Ripping open the knapsack, she hastily shoved the sweater back into it... and accidentally sent a half-filled phial of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder inside it tumbling to the floor.</p><p>When it hit the wood, the small bottle shattered, plunging Hermione into a darkness so complete it matched the one that had soundly severed the pathway to her logical mind.</p><p>She cursed, stumbling to her feet even though she couldn't see a bloody thing. With a sweaty hand she reached out blindly. Her enormous mattress was hard to miss; gripping her bed for orientation, she tried and failed to deduce the most effective way to get her chaotic thoughts under control quickly, before the refuge that the pitch blackness thankfully provided was gone.</p><p>Blood pounded through her head. Her heart was racing too fast, too fast—</p><p>"Hermione—" Draco's voice was slow, cautious, "Hermione, please — I just want to help you. Please <em>let</em> me."</p><p>Emotions swirled around her like a mighty whirlpool that threatened to sweep away everything that made her Hermione Granger, to haul her down to the depths of some dark, unstable chasm she'd never known was inside her, and she scrabbled frantically against the overpowering pull.</p><p>"I don't <em>need</em> help!" she cried, but her voice sounded distant to her ears, like she was listening to herself shout from the end of a very long tunnel.</p><p>Somehow, his hand found hers in the darkness, sending a jolt through her entire arm. She jerked away; when he only caught it again, she stubbornly yanked backward with her whole body, though the action caused her to lose her hold on the bed. "I said I'm<em> fine—"</em></p><p>The back of her legs ran into something big and bulky sitting low to the ground.</p><p>She was falling through empty air before she could try to grab hold of anything to catch herself.</p><p>Hermione yelped, bracing herself for a painful impact - but then her left arm jerked forward as Draco, who must have never lost his grip on her hand, pulled her up again, and she collided with something broad and solid and warm. Gulping in a breath of relief, she grabbed the thick material of his sweatshirt to steady herself, and she felt firm hands on her shoulders doing the same.</p><p>For several seconds, they both breathed raggedly, clinging blindly to each other, and Hermione suddenly felt foolish that her stubborn scrabbling had nearly been the cause of injury to them both.</p><p>Before she could say anything, Draco spoke, his voice directly in front of her now.</p><p>"Hermione, I know you want to keep it together for all of us, and - and you have been. For a very long time," he said quietly. "But sometimes you reach a point where you simply can't."</p><p>His words sent a sharp crack through the fine veneer that was barely holding her together. Her eyes again began to burn, but she bit her lip and sniffed back tears and shook her head frantically. "You and Pansy — you're both — you <em>need</em> me to be—"</p><p>"All we need you to be is human," he interrupted, his earnest voice urgent. "Not perfect. <em>Human." </em>As the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder's potency began to fade, his tall, thin form materialized in front of her, hardly visible in the opaque light. "What did you tell me once? People <em>feel. </em>Even when it hurts more than the worst pain imaginable<em>.</em> But I've learnt that sometimes, when it becomes too much, when it hurts too much… sometimes the only thing we have the power to do is to just let go." She could barely make out his eyes, but she could feel his gaze boring into hers. "Let it<em> go,</em> Hermione."</p><p>Something inside her physically shattered.</p><p>She gasped back a pained cry as her legs gave way beneath her. Draco pulled her against him before she could fall to the ground completely, and she began to sob as if her very soul was breaking.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tomorrow miiiight be my birthday... and it would be a lovely gift to hear your thoughts on the chapter! Draco and Pansy finally have their moment, and poor Hermione has a bit of a rocky ride. Do you think it was about time Hermione had a breakdown of sorts given everything that's been thrown at her?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. A Different World, Part II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A birthday gift from me to you -- another chapter up! :) Any canon dialogue is credited to JK Rowling.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The common room was nearly empty, but for the first time in almost three years, at least part of Hogwarts felt like a <em>home</em> to Harry, not a penitentiary in which he was trapped until the day graduation would have allowed him a bitter escape to yet another prison, the Phoenix, where he would be welcomed with open arms, glittering titles and plenty of false pretences.</p><p>Pansy was sitting alongside him staring thoughtfully into the lit fireplace. They hadn't spoken for the better part of the hour, not since Malfoy had left to look for Granger, and Pansy had twirled back toward Harry looking as radiant as he had ever seen her, flung her arms around him, and fiercely whispered, <em>"Thank you."</em></p><p>That alone had made going along with this otherwise completely lunatic caper worth it, even if he still didn't trust Granger — if that really was who she was — as far as he could throw her.</p><p>Pansy's presence alone was calming, the feeling of her breaths ebbing and flowing calmly against him soothing, her fingers interlaced with his. In the unexpected insanity of the four days it had been since they had reunited, they'd hardly had time to be alone with each other, not with Granger's determination to see her plan through to the end and Pansy's insistence that he participate.</p><p>Harry savoured her and the silence while it lasted, because he knew it wouldn't:</p><p>First, the overenthusiastic, know-it-all devil child who was apparently the offspring of Bellatrix Black-Lestrange had somehow gotten hold of their password again, even though he'd made a point of changing it yesterday, and had proceeded to invade the common room at will. Now, <em>Malfoy</em> of all people would be permanently sharing the increasingly shrinking quarters as well — and bunking in Harry's room rather than Granger's, Harry had insisted.</p><p>He wasn't especially looking forward to Malfoy nosing around, but he couldn't say he'd rather see the particularly unlucky conservative back with Weasley, either. Were it any other person, Harry frankly wouldn't have cared less about what happened to him. But he knew how much Pansy did, which meant Harry had to care more than he wanted to.</p><p>"He didn't seem… quite the same, didn't he?" Pansy suddenly said quietly.</p><p>Harry glanced down at her face; her eyes were worried. "He's been through a lot, Liv."</p><p>She nodded. "I know, and that's why — well — do you think he'll be alright? I mean, I know how much just being with <em>My</em>…" She trailed off, biting her lip, and Harry wanted to <em>kill </em>My Granger, wherever she was, before Pansy blinked rapidly and continued, "I can't even begin to fathom the horrible things they did to him. Did you see those - those awful scars on his face?" Her chin wobbled tremulously. "And he can't even - he can't even walk properly anymore…"</p><p>Harry sighed and brushed back some of her hair reassuringly, then rested his chin on the top of her head. "As much as I loathe to say it, if anyone can get through all of that, it's Malfoy, obnoxiously good-natured prat that he is."</p><p>She smiled weakly and twisted around to look up at him, the sadness in her eyes turning to faint mischief. "Do I hear fondness in that statement, Harry Evans? Does this mean my two best boys will finally become the best of friends? After all, you two'll be sharing a room now. Sounds like plenty of time for bonding, if you ask me."</p><p>Before he could stop it, disgusted disbelief exploded across his face at the very <em>idea, </em>causing her to giggle. "Merlin, Harry, you're still such a box! Draco's one of the best friends anyone could ever ask for! Why on earth <em>wouldn't</em> you want to be friends with him?"</p><p>"I think the better question is, why on earth would I? There are some who find the blind Malfoy trust and idealism sickening, you know. It'll get him into trouble - Oh wait. It already has."</p><p>She shook her head, still smiling. "Deny it all you want. You like <em>my</em> idealism."</p><p>He snorted. "Believe me, you and Malfoy are two entirely different <em>species—"</em></p><p>"Pansy! Harry! Is he here? Is Draco here yet?"</p><p>A mangy-haired blur barrelled into the common room and threw herself on Pansy in what could have either been a hug or a chokehold. When she looked toward him to Merlin forbid do the same, Harry scowled and gave her a deadly expression that was enough to ward her off.</p><p>His eyes flicked toward the clock.</p><p>"Sneaking around after hours in front of the Head Boy, are you? Unwise, Longbottom. I should deduct house points."</p><p>Pansy nudged him but looked unconcerned; he knew she knew he wouldn't go through with the threat while she was with him. "Harry, she's been waiting to see Draco all day."</p><p>"Well, Malfoy's otherwise occupied, isn't he? Speaking of which…" Harry twisted around on the couch and peered suspiciously up at the Head Girl's closed bedroom door. "He's been gone a bloody long time. What in the blazes are they doing up there, sha—"</p><p><em>"Harry!"</em> Pansy elbowed him hard enough that it hurt, then looked back at the Longbottom-Black hybrid's anxious expression. "He's here, sweetheart. He's alright. He's talking to Hermione now, but I'm sure he'll be down soon. Why don't you wait here with us until then?"</p><p>Harry spluttered and looked at Pansy in disbelief. But she gave him a doe-eyed, pleading expression with which he couldn't argue, though he suppressed a groan when he felt her body pull away from him to make space for the Peia girl.</p><p><em>In between </em>them.</p><p>
  <em>Blasted imp.</em>
</p><p>He tried to tune her out as she and Pansy began to converse, her high-pitched chatter much more animated than Pansy's reserved voice.</p><p>Instead, he focused on the mystery that My Granger - Hermione Granger? - had suddenly become. Just because she was clearly no longer My Granger and knew about the Marauders' Map didn't make her from <em>another universe</em> — one with the exact same people in it as this one, only with different personalities, no less.</p><p>He almost held back a snort at the thought.</p><p>No, what it made her was much more likely to have been from <em>this</em> world, working through Lupin or even Sirius Black for that information, perhaps, though what kind of idiotic Sovereignty agent would have concocted such an utterly ludicrous cover story, he didn't know.</p><p><em>That's</em> what didn't add up.</p><p>She was no idiot, not with her very demonstrative magical competency and extremely adept acting skills that had allowed her to snatch Draco Malfoy and still manage to emerge socially victorious — a nearly impossible feat, since making the convicted conservative's life a living hell had become a popular pastime amongst the older student body.</p><p>No, Harry was concerned that whoever was now shoved in My Granger's body had a mental capacity that rivalled his mother's. And with her obvious ability to trick and lie and charm, that was a very disturbing problem.</p><p>He knew all too well the treachery of which someone like her was capable.</p><p>But if she <em>was</em> a spy, what was her endgame? Why hadn't she turned him in to the Sovereignty yet, unless this new version of My had even bigger blackmail plans than My herself had?</p><p>And why go through such a charade to obtain Malfoy? Surely the House-Wizard, now that he like all the others had been irreversibly rendered magically impotent, couldn't have been important anymore to either the Sovereignty or any scattered conservatives who might have remained undetected, not even when the information Lucius Malfoy knew came to light.</p><p>"Harry? Harry, what about you?" Suddenly, the urchin child was beaming up at him. "Harry?"</p><p>Harry would have much rather <em>Avada'd</em> himself than be dragged into conversation with her. He glanced irately at Pansy, who was smiling at him in amusement, before he looked back at Peia. "What about me?" he grunted.</p><p>"Do you think things are going to change now that Hermione's here, too?" she asked brightly.</p><p>That question caught him off guard, and his mouth opened in surprise before a hard expression settled across his face. "Not bloody lik—"</p><p>
  <em>"Draco!"</em>
</p><p>Before he could finish responding, Peia jumped off the couch and ran off behind them toward the Head Girl dorm's entrance.</p><p>Harry blinked. "Good to know I don't matter," he muttered.</p><p>Pansy twisted slightly to watch the irksome terror go forth and leech onto someone else, thank Merlin, before turning back to him. "I thought you didn't care," she said quietly, her smile teasing.</p><p>He scowled instantly. "I don't."</p><p>He followed her gaze to see Peia hugging the bedraggled Malfoy halfway up the stairs; Malfoy had sat down on one of the steps, even, probably because she'd knocked him over. Perhaps Harry was just used to seeing Malfoy in captivity, but he thought the Slytherin actually looked considerably more put together now than he ever had in all the times Harry had encountered him in the two years following the Final Suppression.</p><p>After a few minutes, they came down the stairs, Peia clinging to Malfoy's hand. Pansy stood up and stepped around the couch to meet them, though Harry didn't bother to move.</p><p>"Is everything alright up there? Did something… happen?" Pansy asked him quietly, as always concerned about others' well being before her own.</p><p>Malfoy smiled at her tiredly, his gaze warm, and hesitated before briefly touching her shoulder in a physical gesture of reassurance. After a period of jealously that lasted for much of fourth year, Harry had learned that it was <em>just what Malfoy did</em> around almost everyone, and he didn't bristle at it anymore. "Everything's fine, Pans. Just needed to hash out a few things."</p><p>But then Malfoy's pale eyes flicked toward Harry, and the uncharacteristically angry expression that suddenly flared to life in them <em>did</em> cause Harry to bristle and stand abruptly.</p><p>"Evans. We need to talk." Malfoy's expression hardened further. "Preferably in private."</p><p>Harry could have rolled his eyes. Was Granger really so pathetic that she had gone crying to <em>Malfoy</em> that Harry was still suspicious of her? And was Malfoy really so pathetic that he'd fallen for it so quickly?</p><p>"If you have something to say to me, here's as good a place as any," he said, crossing his arms.</p><p>Pansy was looking worriedly between them. "Draco, what's—"</p><p>Malfoy glanced at her and Peia for a moment, did the hand-on-Pansy's-arm thing again, and then focused back on Harry. Harry met his even gaze with some level of amusement that he didn't even bother to conceal.</p><p>This should be entertaining, to say the very least.</p><p>He had to say, he didn't expect Malfoy to have it in him to step right up to Harry so they were eye to eye - not so soon after the wraith-like, hobbling man had been nothing more than a punching bag for most of the others in Harry's social circle. Nor did he expect the considerable amount of ferocity that was quite evident in Malfoy's voice when he said quietly, "You need to <em>back off </em>her, Evans."</p><p>Harry's eyebrows flew up. "Really? You're threatening me when you don't even have a wand?"</p><p>In an ironic twist, <em>Malfoy</em> was the only one between them who didn't appear amused. "Not threatening, Evans. Telling. Give her a chance, or you're going to lose the most important ally any of us might ever have."</p><p>Harry snorted. "You mean you actually believe that rubbish?"</p><p>Malfoy's arm jerked backward, and for a second, Harry actually thought he was going to try to punch him. His own reaction was automatic, his wand out in a heartbeat.</p><p><em>"Draco!"</em> Pansy exclaimed, but Malfoy wrestled his fisted hand back to his side, his eyes flashing.</p><p>"That <em>rubbish</em> has saved my life more times than I care to count," he said through a clenched jaw. "She's done a hell of a lot for Pansy and for you as well. I see why you wouldn't have trusted her before, but now you have absolutely no right to treat her like you have." His voice lowered. "You have no <em>idea</em> what she's gone through."</p><p>Harry couldn't help but snort slightly. "Oh, and you do?"</p><p>"More than you know."</p><p>He sounded so convinced, Harry was disgusted. That was it; he refused to debate with dim-witted blockheads, and it appeared that being rescued by a Witch in Shining Undergarments had turned Malfoy into one.</p><p>Largely for his own entertainment, he abruptly stepped threateningly toward Malfoy until he almost ran into him, his lowered wand prodding hard into Malfoy's side (hidden from Pansy's vantage point). While Malfoy held his ground, Harry saw the raw fear that passed through his eyes as Harry approached, the sharp tremor that wracked through his entire body the moment Harry's wand made contact with it.</p><p>So the conservative movement's Poster Boy wasn't as put together as he'd like them all to believe.</p><p>"Are you really so daft as to be so thoroughly confounded by her spell?" Harry hissed.</p><p>Malfoy took a breath, clenching his hands into fists. Then he gave Harry a pitying look, which only irritated him more. "Do you really trust so little you'd remain blind to the truth?"</p><p>"The truth?" Harry laughed shortly. "Has she offered to go under Veritaserum, has she sworn an Oath of her honesty, has she given <em>any</em> of us some of her memories of this 'other world' so we can know these wild stories aren't anything other than well-fabricated lies?"</p><p>He glanced at Pansy and the midget for support — well, he doubted the midget would support him over her beloved Malfoy — but even Pansy was looking at him unhappily, her lips pressed together into a displeased frown.</p><p>He took a step away from all of them. "Stop looking at me like I'm the enemy! I'm trying to keep us all from being duped! Come on, Malfoy, you talk about the truth, so give me something to go on here. Has Granger done <em>any</em> of those things?"</p><p>A strange, almost conflicted, but certainly defeated expression crossed Malfoy's face. Harry sensed a victory. "That's right. I didn't think so—"</p><p>"Yes she has."</p><p>The second he heard the voice, he fought a scowl.</p><p>He looked down and gave Peia a scathing expression. "What?"</p><p>She stepped up next to Malfoy, who was looking at her, startled, as well. "I've seen it. The other world."</p><p>Harry frowned. "What you do mean, you've <em>seen</em> it?"</p><p>"I've seen it, in—" For a moment, the puffy-haired girl glanced toward Malfoy before she looked back at Harry, "—in her eyes."</p><p>"Impossible," he scoffed. "You can't have done Legilimency on her; how old are you, seven?"</p><p>"Twelve, and I didn't do anything to her; I just saw it."</p><p>Harry was about to tell her to beat it — and mean it this time — when she looked directly up at him, her dark eyes searching his.</p><p>"She reminds you of your mother," she said slowly, her voice thoughtful. Harry stiffened. "You're afraid that if you trust her, she'll do the same thing to one of us that your mother did to your father."</p><p>For a moment, Harry was actually unable to breathe. Then he jerked away from both the girl and Malfoy, forcing his gaze upward to the latter for an explanation, but Malfoy too was staring down at Peia in surprise.</p><p>After a second, he looked back at Harry. "She's done this for as long as she's been able to talk," he said, his voice cautious.</p><p>Harry held back a curse. So either this girl was a bloody <em>Seer</em> or a natural Legilimens, as impossible as that notion seemed - how could anyone be both a born Occumens as well as Legilimens?</p><p>Either way, it would be greatly inconvenient for him.</p><p>He felt Pansy's eyes staring at the side of his head, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Even <em>she</em> didn't know about what Longbottom had just vocalized; he had never wanted her to know…</p><p><em>Blasted </em><strong><em>imp! </em></strong>he thought ferociously again.</p><p>He hesitated for a very long moment, trying to decide how he wanted to handle the situation, before he looked back toward Peia again. "What am I thinking of right now?"</p><p>"It doesn't work like that," she said, and frowned. "I don't known why you're so unhappy. You want a memory of hers for proof, don't you? I've seen loads of them."</p><p>She didn't know why he was so unhappy? The girl had no blasted concept of social boundaries, did she?</p><p>"Alright, then," he gritted out. He conjured a flask and held it out to her. "Give me one of her memories. Make it a convincing one."</p><p>When she suddenly looked unsure, Malfoy swooped in like the predictable hero he was to explain how. Peia frowned in concentration, lifting her wand to her temple and following his directions. When a silvery thread of the memory emerged, she gasped in surprise, and Harry could honestly say he was almost as astonished as she was that a second year had been able to extract one of her thoughts.</p><p>She continued the motion, slowly pulling it from her mind.</p><p>The blasted thing seemed to <em>keep coming.</em></p><p>Before she could inevitably lose it, Harry shoved the flask toward the thread and trapped it inside, where it took up an exorbitant amount of space.</p><p>He had no sooner bottled it than Malfoy had snatched the flask out of his hand.</p><p>Harry stared at him in astonishment. "The <em>hell, </em>Malfoy?"</p><p>"I'll destroy it in front of you after you see it," he said evenly. "Bring a Pensieve, or we'll find one together."</p><p>Harry scowled. So Malfoy trusted him about as much as Harry trusted Granger, did he? Well, there dashed Pansy's fantasy of them all ever becoming friends. "I'd say you aren't in much of a position to be snapping out orders," he growled.</p><p>"He has one, Draco," Pansy suddenly said, ignoring Harry's reply. She began moving. "I'll go and get it."</p><p>Her tone made him more nervous than any threat Malfoy could ever make. He finally let himself look toward her. Her blue eyes caught his for a long, searching moment that left him sick inside before she left for his bedroom.</p><p>He knew there would be questions. The answers were ones he didn't want to relive, not again.</p><p>After she disappeared into his quarters, he forced himself to return his attention to Malfoy, automatically taking in the other man's weaknesses. Though he was standing tall, the gaunt blond was starting to look more worn around the edges, his pale face ashen, his right leg no longer seeming to support any of his weight, the flask shaking very slightly in his hand. Harry had to give him some credit, though: very few could withstand his glare for extended periods of time.</p><p>Harry nodded toward the flask. "You realize I could just summon that from you right now."</p><p>"And exploit an unarmed man?" The conservative's tone was incredibly irreverent considering the fact he was as good as a convict and Harry was a bloody Elite. "That would put you at the level of a -" his jaw tightened, "- a Weasley." For a moment, Malfoy's eyes glazed, before they returned to Harry emotionlessly. "I didn't think even you would sink that low, Evans."</p><p>The words struck a chord Harry didn't know was inside him. His nostrils flared, and he honestly didn't know what he would have done had Pansy not breathlessly reappeared beside them, her cheeks flushed, holding out the metal bowl. "Here it is."</p><p>Malfoy glanced down at Peia briefly. "Which one was it, Pei?"</p><p>"All of them."</p><p>Harry didn't like how serious the normally obscenely bubbly child sounded. He also didn't like Malfoy's unsmiling, almost concerned reaction before he looked back at Harry, his expression as cool as it had been when he'd first warned him off Granger.</p><p>"Draco? What does she mean?" Pansy asked.</p><p>Without breaking Harry's gaze with a steady one of his own, Malfoy tipped the flask and silvery tendrils into the bowl, where they began to swirl. "It means he's going to be in for a nasty shock." He nodded once at Harry. "I recommend you prepare yourself."</p><p>Harry scoffed at the suggestion. He couldn't help but glance once into Pansy's worried eyes, and he knew it was a poor choice the moment he did.</p><p>He set his jaw and returned his gaze to Malfoy's hard expression. "We'll see who's in for a shock," he said icily.</p><p>Unhesitatingly, he plunged in the Pensieve.</p><p>Fog swirled around him until it left him standing in a tiny village square. Snowflakes drifted down around him, Christmas lights strung all around, illuminating the night. Something moved to his right, and his attention was suddenly drawn to —</p><p>He froze.</p><p>He found himself staring at… <em>himself.</em></p><p>But yet… it wasn't himself, not really. Looking closer, he saw that this self was several inches shorter than he was, looked less broad as well, and was wearing an embarrassing pair of glasses, his Muggle clothing old and worn. Beside the other self was none other than My Granger, but she also didn't look much like herself, either — this version of her wore equally smudged, extremely conservative muggle clothes without an ounce of makeup or adornments, wild hair messily pulled back from her face.</p><p>Both were staring intently up at something directly in front of them.</p><p>Harry turned to see a statue a few feet away. Unlike the imposing, glittering effigies that had been erected around the castle, this one was smaller, unassuming, its curves smooth and lifelike. It featured two people, one of them holding a small child. Harry peered closer at the faces—</p><p>He stiffened again. After several long seconds, he forced himself to swallow.</p><p>The woman in the statue was his mother. And the man beside her — <em>the man was his father.</em></p><p>His mouth opened and closed. No statue, no commemoration of his father existed, would ever exist, and certainly not in some little village Harry himself had never seen…</p><p>Suddenly, his other self spoke. "C'mon," he said, heading toward a nearby church, lights and holiday carols drifting from it. My wordlessly followed him into the cemetery behind it, and Harry followed them both as the pair moved from row to row, peering at tombstones.</p><p>He felt somewhat detached from the scene, as though he was watching a television show featuring an identical twin or a double — this person who looked exactly like him but was living through an experience that Harry himself had never had, talking in a strangely open, excited tone that Harry would have never used.</p><p>Every now and then, they'd spot someone whose name was familiar — even some relations of the Sovereign himself, who his other Self seemed to know, which made Harry suspicious - why would the Sovereign ever bury his relatives in such an unassuming little gravesite?</p><p>But none of the graves must have belonged to those for whom they were ultimately searching, until My said,</p><p>"Harry, they're here… Right here."</p><p>His other self froze. After a minute, he moved toward her, his gait suddenly less confident, slower. Harry frowned and cut in front of his lookalike to read the words on the grave that My was staring at.</p><p>The first line on the tombstone was strange but not a surprise.</p><p>
  <em>James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981</em>
</p><p>The second one was something different entirely.</p><p>
  <em>Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.</em>
</p><p>Disbelief rocked him, so much that he was extraordinarily grateful no one was around him to witness it. So stunned was Harry that he didn't hear the words his other self spoke then; the only thing he did hear was My answering in a very gentle voice that was so unlike anything My would have ever said to him, or anyone, "It doesn't mean defeating death in the way Death Eaters mean it, Harry. It means, you know — living beyond death. Living after death."</p><p>Harry was horrified when his other self actually began to cry, the teardrops freezing on his cheeks. At the same time, unexpected emotion pulled at his own chest, and he realized he was suddenly much more connected to what was happening around him than he would have liked.</p><p>Even though he would have never been caught dead showing it outwardly like his other self was now.</p><p>How different was this place, that <em>both</em> his parents were dead and lovingly memorialised, and his mother had accepted the last name of Potter?</p><p>Then My had taken his hand — <em>not dating, my arse, </em>he thought — and conjured a wreath of roses, which his other self lay on the grave.</p><p>Before he could begin to analyse the meaning of all of this, of what could have caused his other self's parents to have died on the same day only months after he was born, the scene and memories swirled around him.</p><p>He was in a spare Hogwarts' classroom, various school supplies strewn across the room. His other Self was suddenly younger, with a full, untidy head of hair his mother would have never tolerated — too unkempt, too Potter-like — looking irritated while My looked encouraging.</p><p>"Concentrate, Harry, <em>concentrate," </em>she was urging, as if <em>she</em> somehow knew whatever they were practising better than he did.</p><p>"What d'you think I'm trying to do?" he said angrily. "A great big dragon keeps popping up in my head for some reason! Okay, try again…"</p><p>The scene flew by as if hours were passing and still books and quills flew at top speed through the air as they continued to practice, and then it switched to an empty Gryffindor common room, this one much more barren than the technology-outfitted common room with which Harry was so familiar.</p><p>My was standing there, looking tired but pleased. "That's better, Harry, that's loads better. I really think you've got it!"</p><p>The scene swirled again.</p><p>"You know the laws, Miss Granger."</p><p>Harry recognized the voice before tendrils of thought had even settled.</p><p>He temporarily stopped breathing.</p><p>The Sovereign himself was standing right in front of him, peering at him intently.</p><p>Instinctively, Harry threw up his Occlumency blinds… only for the Sovereign to turn around and walk toward a set of double doors. It was only then that Harry realized they were in… the Hogwarts Hospital Wing?</p><p>He looked behind him to see his other self and My standing there, looking even younger than before, their clothing dirtied, cuts on their faces. Neither of them looked afraid to be standing, alone, in the Sovereign's presence. Instead, they looked rather baffled.</p><p>Quickly, he steeled himself and looked back at the most powerful wizard of the age as he spun back toward them. Now that Harry thought about it, the older wizard didn't look <em>quite </em>like the all-knowing autarch who struck fear into the hearts of all who opposed him (and all who didn't): his robes —and most of his appearance, for that matter — were positively humble and unassuming, and when he held up his hand and rubbed his thumb and index finger together, some part of his expression actually appeared concerned. "Three turns should do it, I think."</p><p>And then Harry was standing on the Hogwarts grounds near a great white tomb on the shores of the lake, and his other self and My and a Ronáld Weasley who looked as scruffy and destitute as a conservative and <em>nothing</em> at all like Weasley were huddled in a group talking about some person Harry didn't know nor care about named Scrimgeour.</p><p>He glanced toward the tomb. A large multitude of people dressed in black milled around it, as if the funeral of whoever was interred there had just concluded. It was a magnificent structure - he could say for certain that nothing like it existed at Hogwarts, certainly no tombstones at all that Harry had ever seen. Some part of his stomach strangely filled with dread, though he didn't know why.</p><p>With a brief look at the three behind him, he walked quickly over to the marble slab, squeezing his way through the hoards of people near it, all of whom simply vanished into small tendrils of cloud when he pushed past them. His gaze sharply searched the white expanse for some indication as to who was buried inside.</p><p>Engraved at the tomb's base, he finally found the words:</p><p>
  <em>Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hogwarts Headmaster, 1852 − 1997</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A great man, wizard, teacher, and friend.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His service and sacrifice will never be forgotten.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Death is but the next great adventure."</em>
</p><p>Harry had no idea how long he stared at the text, unblinking.</p><p>The air left his lungs.</p><p>He felt like he'd been punched in the gut.</p><p>The Sovereign had never been Hogwarts Headmaster. The Sovereign had never <em>died, </em>and even if he had, these words were absolutely not how he would have chosen to be remembered<em>. </em>The woman who looked like My Granger was <em>not</em> My Granger no more than the man who looked like himself was him; these events that were taking place had never actually happened at all.</p><p>Yet he had; she was; they <em>were.</em></p><p>Harry knew exactly what this all meant: That Granger's entire preposterous story was true, that another universe really did exist with doubles from his own, yet it had its own history, its own, completely different versions of everyone he had ever known, himself included, and the woman who was My Granger but who simultaneously wasn't My Granger really <em>had </em>come from it, somehow, as unbelievable as it seemed.</p><p>Even though he hadn't moved from where he stood at the foot of Albus Dumbledore's tomb, so far from My and Weasley and his other self that they were nearly out of sight, Weasley's voice carried into range: "We'll be there, Harry. At your aunt and uncle's house. And then we'll go with you wherever you're going."</p><p>It was an oath of loyalty that would have never left Weasley's mouth, or My's for that matter, but Weasley sounded like he meant it with every bone in his body. Harry knew, rationally, that the words were not being spoken to<em> him,</em> but something in them moved him so much he felt his eyes begin to - begin to burn with something that felt strangely like<em> tears.</em></p><p>He shoved the sensation away, of course, as his other self protested, and My disagreed, "You said to us once before, there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?"</p><p>"We're with you whatever happens," Weasley said, and Harry looked up to see both My and Weasley looking at his other self so earnestly, so determinedly, that something actually wrenched in his chest.</p><p>Suddenly, her throwing herself on both him and Weasley when she had regained consciousness after her collapse on the Hogwarts Express made sense. He could see it now, as much as it unsettled him: that they were friends in her world. No - not just <em>friends. </em>This was a kind of friendship with which Harry himself was unfamiliar, had only ever seen between the likes of Pansy, Malfoy, that blockhead Zabini —</p><p>But then he was yanked away from the white tomb, and memories began to stream past him faster now, so fast he hardly had time to process what he was seeing before they would switch again, and abruptly his other self was nothing more than a slip of a child and so was My, and she dashed at him and threw her arms around him and cried, "Harry — you're a great wizard, you know!"</p><p>"I'm not as good as you."</p><p>"Me! Books! And cleverness! There are more important things — friendship and bravery and — oh Harry — be careful!"</p><p>Why exactly his other self needed to be so careful was never answered. The scenes were swirling past him so quickly he felt dizzy, nauseous, dragons and fire and thestrals and flashes of light flying all around him as his other self and My ducked and fought with furious, desperate skill that Harry had rarely seen amongst his peers, and people were flashing by as well, people who Harry knew from his own world but who looked and seemed like strangers here:</p><p>"You're <em>Muggles</em>! We must have a drink! What's that you've got there? Oh, you're changing Muggle money. Molly, look!"</p><p>"You're the cleverest witch of your age I've ever met, Hermione."</p><p>"We've got to be able to defend ourselves!"</p><p>"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little <em>Mudblood."</em></p><p>"It's Levi-<em>oh-</em>sa, not levio<em>sa!</em>"</p><p>"Harry, we can't be here, we have to go now!"</p><p>"If you're going to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!"</p><p><em>"Where is it?!</em> Tell me where it is, you filthy mudblood; <em>TELL ME! Crucio!" </em></p><p>"Hermione!"</p><p>
  <em>"Harry!"</em>
</p><p>As a towering, glowing wall of flaming Fiendfyre shot toward them in a cavernous room piled with artifacts from floor to ceiling, Harry rocketed backward out of the Pensieve to Pansy's, Malfoy's and Peia's expectant gazes.</p><p>He stumbled to his knees and vomited immediately.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So did this chapter at all change your opinion of Harry Evans - or do you still dislike him just as much?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. A Mother's Presence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews, comments and birthday wishes; I read each one, and will try to reply to those from last chapter as soon as possible. But I wanted to get this chapter up first! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The small conservative village of East Belham was under siege. Most of the inhabitants had already crowded through the hidden passageway inside the church to the underground burrows Tom Riddle had helped create more than a decade earlier by the time the Carrow siblings pounded on the door. The tunnels extended beyond the edge of the Anti-Disapparition Jinx the Sovereignty had placed around the entire city years ago, so conservative families could escape in groups once they'd fled beyond it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Blaise was closer to the church's entrance than Draco, and he pulled one of the doors open. "Bloody hell! D'you think you two could have cut it any closer?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Amycus and Alecto hustled breathlessly inside, their faces smudged with soot. "The birds are everywhere; they burned Hamlet's Row before we could come through. We had to slip through the post…"</em>
</p><p><em>As they spoke, Blaise continued to stare out the door. </em>"Draco…<em>"</em></p><p>
  <em>Dread filled him at his best friend's tone. Racing up beside him, Draco cautiously peered around the church doors. A gust of hot air slammed into him, blowing his hair up and around his face, and he almost staggered backward at the wall of flames approaching from the western side of the village, billowing black smoke obscuring the early morning sun. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Suddenly, he noticed motion down one of the small paths leading to the church, and a flash of red hair.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His eyes widened.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Weasley or Evans - whichever Viceroy it was, it didn't matter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Right. Time to go." He slammed the doors shut and fired a shocking charm into the gold coin he'd been gripping in a fist with all his might — the signal to raise the security wards.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Dear Merlin!" Abruptly, Alecto dropped the bag she'd been looking through, turned and clutched her brother's arm. "Mum's chest! It's gone — it must have fallen out when I dropped my purse, Amycus! It's all we have left of her; I've got to try to Summon it!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Before any of them could stop her, she spun, pulled open the church door, and stepped outside.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A jet of purple light flashed toward them from the village only a moment before the air outside the door shimmered; the conservatives' protective shields up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alecto staggered and turned back to them, her face stunned. She looked downward. Dark blood was spreading through the entire front of her blouse.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco felt sick, stupefied; he wanted to help her, treat her, do something, </em>
  <strong>
    <em>anything,</em>
  </strong>
  <em> but he found that his feet were frozen. All he could do was stare at her in horror as her shocked gaze slowly lifted back to them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He saw the life leave her eyes a second before she slumped to the ground.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He couldn't breathe, gaping at her crumpled body. It </em>
  <em>- It had all happened so quickly… She couldn't - She couldn't really be dead… could she?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For several seconds, none of them moved, but then Alecto's dark-haired brother jerked his head upward, his gaze fixed on the street outside, now swarming with Sovereignty forces, and let out a roar of agony. Draco took one look at him and the expression in his eyes and suddenly found he was able to move again; he flung himself in front of Amycus.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Get out of my way, Malfoy!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You can't! Amycus, you can't!" Draco pushed him backward. "Think of </em>
  <strong>
    <em>her! </em>
  </strong>
  <em>You know they'll kill you; she wouldn't want that!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But he was only fifteen, and the taller, broader man easily flung him aside. "I don't care; I'll take some of the bastards with me first!" he roared, charging out the door.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco again lunged after him, but Blaise grabbed his arm, hauling him backward. "Draco, no! Are you mad? You can't go after him! Those wards won't hold if the Sovereign's with them. We have to get o—"</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>BOOM!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>An explosion rocked the building, sending them both flying to the floor-</em>
</p><p>Draco gasped and gripped the bed sheets, flinging himself over and onto his other side, squeezing his eyes shut.</p><p>
  <em>His mother was looking at him, her gaze heavy with emotion, while he stood </em>
  <em>in front of her</em>
  <em>, nearly shaking with anger and frustration,</em>
  <em> in their flat's tiny kitchen, his holiday luggage on the ground beside him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You remember what I've always told you, darling, don't you?" she said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He nodded weakly, and couldn't help but muster a faint, halfhearted smile in spite of himself even though he'd rather yell as he mumbled the familiar words, "We must never lose our smiles."</em>
</p><p>Draco let out a shaky breath, his tense, aching muscles finally, <em>finally </em>relaxing.</p><p>
  <em>"That's right." Narcissa smiled herself and gently touched his cheek lovingly, even though her face was tired and lined. "And you have such a beautiful one. We'd all be at a great loss if you did."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His weak smile widened slightly at her words before he ducked his head, embarrassed. He sighed. "I'm sorry, mum, I know; it's just… Sometimes it's so hard." His hand clenched into a fist. "I mean — Why Quidditch? Why did they have to take that away from us? What harm could possibly be done if we played? We aren't a threat to them; we aren't any less than them…" He shoved his hand through his hair, fighting back another wave of despair. "It isn't fair!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her eyes were pained as she sighed and drew him into a hug. "I know, darling. I know how much you love Quidditch. I know how much it hurts."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He welcomed the comfort of her embrace. It had been a very long first half of third year; the inequity between the more conservative students and the rest of the school had only seemed to grow worse - or perhaps simply more obvious - the older he became.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>After a moment, he shook his head. "I just wish there was something I could </em>
  <strong>
    <em>do."</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>She sat back, her gaze brightening. "Oh, but there is." She held him out at arms length. "Would you like to know a very important secret I have learned in my life?" When he nodded, she made sure to catch his gaze so he knew she was serious. "When things like this happen - and they will, it's simply a part of living - we have two options: We can choose to allow these forces outside ourselves to embitter us, perhaps even destroy us. Or we can choose to rise above them, and only use them to give us insight about ourselves, and perhaps even the very reason we're alive. Yes, what's happened to all of us </em>
  <strong>
    <em>has</em>
  </strong>
  <em> been unfair, but it's also been a gift, Draco! Do you see how?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His jaw tightened. Nothing about the discrimination he'd begun to see all around him seemed like a good thing, which had made this year such an unhappy one, so much so that the world had seemed to lose the magic, the luster he had usually seen everywhere around him after growing up with Narcissa as his mother.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Not really, no," he admitted in a mumble, staring at the ground.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Because losing so much," Narcissa went on, "has helped us see that what </em>
  <em>truly</em>
  <em> matters is that which remains when everything else has been taken from us. Not money, not things, not names or power — but family. Friends. The unshakable sense of self we hold deep within us. Togetherness. </em>
  <strong>
    <em>Love."</em>
  </strong>
  <em> He heard the smile in her voice as she took his hands in hers. "I may not have the manor the Second Viceroy's wife does and I may not dress like Viceroy Evans, but I am the proudest, luckiest woman in the entire world. Do you know why?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When he shook his head again, biting his lip, she whispered fervently, "Because I have </em>
  <strong>
    <em>you</em>
  </strong>
  <em>."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He blinked back a sudden rush of tears and looked up at her quickly. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he was so grateful he had her for a mother, too, but the normally talkative boy suddenly found himself unable to speak.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Despite this, Narcissa reached out and cupped his face tenderly, her smile warm. "And I've been able to watch you grow into a compassionate, brilliant, wonderful young man, and that means more to me than all the money or titles in the world."</em>
</p><p>But then quickly, far too quickly, his mother's face and one of his most cherished memories twisted into his worst nightmare.</p><p>
  <em>He was no longer standing in their aging flat but crouched on the floor of the foyer of an unfamiliarly beautiful Mayfair home. He was older now, his hair and clothing soaked with sweat, his entire body shaking, his nails digging so hard into his palms they drew blood.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>An amused, throaty purr floated inside the shattered stained glass window above him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Come out, come out, Little Malfoy. Time to play."</em>
</p><p>He jerked and twisted sharply, clutching a pillow and praying for relief.</p><p>
  <em>Pale, tear-filled blue eyes bore into his, sending searing agony straight to the heart of his soul.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She silently mouthed, 'I love y—'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A flash of green cut her unspoken message short.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>"Mother!"</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Draco lurched forward...</p><p>...and his entire body painfully collided with a hard thud against something solid and unyielding.</p><p>He gasped and opened his eyes to darkness, clutching what could only have been a floor. His heart leapt to his throat; lifting his head, his eyes frantically scanned the darkness for any indication of where he was - until he heard a muffled curse nearby.</p><p>"Malfoy. Get the bloody hell out." Evans' voice sounded rough with sleep and positively vexed. "That's the third blasted time tonight. You'd better go become best mates with the common room couch because you sure as shite aren't sleeping here anymore."</p><p>Draco tiredly let his forehead fall back to the ground with a small thud, the instantaneous stab of panic at finding himself alone in a dark room with an unknown someone immediately beginning to ebb. A cold sweat had soaked through his shirt, and his entire face ached. Despite his fatigue, he didn't want to fall asleep again, not to the nightmares that only left him when he was so exhausted his entire body shut down and his subconscious mind had no choice but to fall into unconsciousness.</p><p>The darkness in Evans' massive Head Boy room was almost as complete as the Instant Darkness Powder in Hermione's, but he managed to find his way to the door and blindly stumble unevenly down the steps outside it to the Head common room, clutching the railing, swimming in a pair of Evans' pajama pants and sweatshirt, even though the two of them were roughly the same height.</p><p>After what he'd lived through, it was easier than he would have liked to push aside the aching pain shooting through his right thigh with each step he took. But being able to simply <em>walk</em> again, unfettered, undirected, uninhibited, was a foreign, almost out-of-body experience that spurred a claw of anxiety at his chest and sweat to dampen his hands.</p><p>Feeling nauseous, he forced himself to breathe evenly and carry on, reminding himself over and over that he was allowed to do this, that no one with a wand was going to emerge from the blackness to pursue him or punish him. He bit his lip, hating that he had instinctively begun to automatically question his own freedoms — the very thing that he, his mother, his friends, his <em>kind</em> had for so long been fighting against. He hadn't noticed it during the days and weeks and months with the Weasleys, when he'd simply been following rote orders, often struggling to survive hour by hour. But now that he was closer to freedom than he had ever been in the past two years − the closest he might ever be — it was painfully obvious his mind had still been conditioned.</p><p>With a wince, he collided first with a table and then, finally, a sofa. He collapsed onto the incredibly soft material of the latter, his leg weeping in relief. It was so blessedly luxurious that the very act of his sitting on it surely must have been illegal, but no inspectors from the Agency for Conservative Management and Inspection materialized to arrest him; no Weasley swooped in to beat him or worse like his tensed muscles and quiveringly alert mind seemed to fully expect they would.</p><p>Sighing heavily, he cautiously allowed himself to slowly relax, staring blankly above him. A faint, fuzzy light met his gaze.</p><p>Then what he was looking at came into focus.</p><p>Something inside him jolted, and he blinked, scrubbing at his exhausted eyes.</p><p>Like someone had flung a handful of pixie dust in the air, thousands of stars - the entire Milky Way, it seemed - unfurled above him. The ceiling must have been Enchanted, but…</p><p>Merlin, the last time he had seen the stars had been…</p><p>Suddenly, a bright, pointed light shone down on him.</p><p>"Draco?"</p><p>He squinted at the beam's source.</p><p>"Pansy?" he croaked.</p><p>He heard a door softly close and quiet footsteps on the stairs, and he sat up and moved over on the cool leather of the sofa so she could sit beside him. He could just make out the front of a cylindrical metal object in her hands, and he vaguely remembered seeing something like it in one of his earlier Muggle Studies classes. "What's…"</p><p>"A torch. Hermione gave it to me, so I can use it for light, instead of…"</p><p>She trailed off, but Draco knew what she'd meant to say. <em>Instead of <strong>magic.</strong></em></p><p>"Well. So I can get around at night if I need to," she finished awkwardly.</p><p>She switched it off, sighing deeply.</p><p>He understood exactly how she felt.</p><p>For a moment, the only sound that passed between them was their breaths, the common room utterly silent. Draco still wasn't fully convinced that any of this was actually happening, but if Pansy and Evans were witnessing the same things he was — if he and Pansy were actually sitting here, together — then perhaps he wasn't losing his mind after all.</p><p>After a minute, he surrendered himself back to this strange fantasy-reality hybrid, and looked toward Pansy in concern. After what they'd both been through, it would have been impossible to escape nightmares completely, but he fervently hoped hers weren't of the same intensity that his were. "Trouble sleeping?"</p><p>He heard more than saw her nod her head. "Yes - A bit, I suppose. Then I heard something… I thought it might be you."</p><p>Pansy was and had always been, without fail, one of the kindest, most considerate people that Draco had ever known. The thought of anyone doing something to her to cause an inability to sleep made him at once protective and angry and indescribably frustrated that he was so powerless to do anything about it. He could tell from her voice she was worried about him, and his lip dully quirked sideways in an effort to alleviate some of her concern.</p><p>"So you <em>expected</em> Evans to kick me out during our first night together?" he asked lightly. "But we'd been getting on so well! Why didn't you give me fair warning that our beautifully blossoming relationship was doomed to end before I let it go so far?"</p><p>She laughed softly. "I didn't mean that, you goof! I just - I remember how you always… Well. I suppose it isn't important now." She paused, then found his hand and held it tightly. "Oh Draco, I'm so glad you're here!"</p><p>Draco closed his eyes, unspeakable gratefulness and relief soaking through his tired bones like a soothing balm. He had known Pansy for as long as he could remember, and he loved her like the sister he'd never had.</p><p>Until that day, he hadn't thought he would ever hear her voice again.</p><p>"I am too, Pans," he whispered.</p><p>He wanted to reach out and hold her then, if only to reassure himself that she was actually there, though he didn't bother to try. He couldn't, not with his hands restrained...</p><p>He blinked, then gritted his teeth and let out a small breath of frustration.</p><p>His hands weren't perpetually bound anymore. He <em>could.</em></p><p>He wrapped his arm around Pansy, and she snuggled next to him, shifting slightly. He had almost forgotten what this felt like - close, gentle human contact. All he'd ever felt of it in two tortuously long years were the times Peia had visited him during the previous academic year and would take his hand… until Hermione had begun helping him.</p><p>Draco swallowed and forced himself not to think of the sensation of her fingers carefully holding his face, his arms, his chest as she gently but reliably made the excruciating pain everywhere -<em> everywhere,</em> it seemed - fade and disappear. He knew she wasn't interested anyway (frankly, he couldn't think of any reason between fire and the five elements of why she would be, not now), and this was the very last time and place to be thinking, wanting things he could never have-</p><p>Suddenly, fingers that were not his grazed his cheek.</p><p>He cringed backward, panic jolting through him like a shockwave.</p><p>"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Pansy whispered, immediately pulling her hand back. "Does it - Does it still hurt?"</p><p>Draco squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding. He knew what she was talking about, and the very thought of the extremely visible mark Weasley had burned into his face made him sick.</p><p>Swallowing back bile, he said quickly, "You know, I'd rather we talked about something else. Anything else."</p><p>"Oh - yes, of course! I'm so sorry, Draco, I didn't mean to make it worse…"</p><p>He shook his head to wave off her apology before realizing that in the faint light she probably wouldn't be able to see it. He sincerely hoped his swift brush off of her concern hadn't hurt her feelings, but he truly hadn't expected her, and Evans, for that matter, to examine the scarred side of his face like he was a deformed species of skrewt quite as much as they had, either. Whether horror or pity or no sympathy at all, the extended stares made him incredibly uncomfortable.</p><p>"What about the others?" he forced himself to ask, keeping his voice as hushed as hers. "Do you know if any made it out? Blaise?"</p><p>She shook her head. "Most didn't, I don't think. Everyone we know - so many people, Draco - they're all on a list of — of House-Witches and Wizards. Hermione copied it from the library. It's - it's <em>awful."</em> Her voice shook with the pronouncement, and she paused. "I think… I'm fairly certain Blaise is at Hogwarts."</p><p>An odd combination of hope and dread swirled within him - hope that Blaise was so nearby, dread at the conditions in which he was likely being forced to live. He swivelled his head toward Pansy, her form barely visible in the ebbing darkness of the coming dawn. "Merlin. He isn't — With who?"</p><p>"I — I don't know. It isn't like that, I don't think." She sounded surprised by the question. "He's not a personal… servant, like you and I were. Hermione says most of the House-Wizards here seem to work in the kitchens, or do cleaning. I haven't told her or Harry about him yet. I just… I hate to ask them to do something about it. I mean, what could they do, Draco, without drawing even more suspicion to themselves?"</p><p>Draco's hands gripped the pillow beside him. The position they were in was bloody <em>agonizing:</em> so close, <em>so</em> close to the ones they cared about, yet so impossibly far that a permanently insurmountable barricade may as well have been erected between them. And to not have magic through any of it...</p><p>Pansy was right - what <em>could</em> they do? Even though this, right at this moment, felt almost like <em>normal, </em>like Life Before, if they so much as stepped outside this common room, Draco was very aware they would both be considered state prisoners without parole, with the impotence of Squibs to boot. That knowledge, the utter powerlessness of it, was like a five-ton weight indelibly embedded atop his chest and shoulders.</p><p>Her voice dropped slightly. "I think - I'm not sure, but - I think Hermione's trying to find a way to get back to her world."</p><p>Something dangerously close to his heart abruptly twinged. Dully, Draco stared into the very faint light of morning as Pansy continued, "I mean, she's never indicated she is to me, and she's helped so much already that I'm grateful, I really am. But she's barely left the library since she got here, even to sleep. Draco… what if she does?"</p><p>The extreme precariousness of both their situations if Hermione were to leave caused his stomach to roil, and he tried not to think about how he had felt hardly a day earlier when he'd thought she actually had. But knowing that she was <em>actively</em> searching for a way back caused a different kind of pain inside him.</p><p>After a moment, he shook his head at himself, disgusted; if anything, he had <em>needed</em> to hear this unsurprising revelation. Hermione was smart, and good; of course she wouldn't want to stay here any longer than she had to. She hadn't asked for this dark, oppressive world, and she certainly hadn't deserved it either. He himself had physically hurt when, only hours earlier, she had sunk to the ground and wept… hurt because he understood how much she must have missed the place she had come from, and hurt because he knew that helping him had only made her situation more stressful and dangerous rather than less.</p><p>"I can't blame her, can you?" he asked hollowly. "If I had lived in her world and was sent here, you can bet I'd do everything in my power to try to get back there, too."</p><p>"I know." He heard a soft, mirthless breath of air jet out her lips. "I just wish we could go with her."</p><p>Draco closed his eyes and took her hand again.</p><p>So did he.</p><p>More time passed before Pansy glanced at him curiously. "How did you know? That her memories would affect Harry like - like they did?"</p><p>A very faint smile pulled at his lips that Draco couldn't restrain, nor could he help the fleeting tug of satisfaction he felt at the memory of the usually iron-faced Gryffindor's unexpected but positively impressive regurgitation that rivaled that of a mother Hippogriff feeding her chicks. Once Evans had caught his breath, he'd glared fiercely at them all (except Pansy, who he couldn't even face), spat, "This <em>never</em> leaves this room," and tromped off to his suite. Draco was surprised he'd even been allowed to sleep there that night.</p><p>He only hoped it had helped the situation more than hurt it.</p><p>He remembered then that a question had accompanied the amusing reminder, and explained, "Yesterday, when I… went up to her dorm. She…"</p><p>He hesitated. He knew how much time Pansy had been spending with Hermione, and he didn't want her to feel hurt that Hermione had opened up to him and not her. "…she might have told me a few things."</p><p>"A few? I think she told you a lot. Much more than she told me." For a moment, Pansy sounded despondent, but then she shook her head. "I can't even imagine what she's dealing with. It must be so hard for her to know who's on her side when everything here's so different from what she knows. When <em>we're</em> even different from what she knows." She twisted toward him, her eyes wide. "She must really trust you."</p><p>Draco blinked and shrugged, trying to ignore the uncomfortable squirm in his stomach those words elicited. Hermione's question from the night before rang in his ears, after she had stopped crying and they were sitting on the floor of her bedroom and he was still holding her loosely while wondering if the appropriate thing would have been to let go. But he didn't, not until she pulled away herself and looked closely at him.</p><p>
  <em>"Draco," she had asked, "...who do you think I am?"</em>
</p><p>He hadn't been entirely certain of how to answer her.</p><p>More morning light had begun to creep into the room via the ceiling. Pansy drifted in and out of sleep against him as the room brightened, while he stared unseeingly at the thankfully unlit black coals in the hearth, trying not to think about the ceaseless ache in his thigh now that he had nothing else to focus on.</p><p>"Draco…" she murmured suddenly, stirring beside him.</p><p>Her worried tone caused him to sit up and focus down on her fully. "What is it?"</p><p>She stared forward at the fireplace. "Tom and Bella aren't on any list." Her voice wavered. "Do you think they're… dead?"</p><p>Almost immediately, Draco had the opposite thought — What if they <em>weren't? </em>If anyone could have managed to escape the Final Suppression, it would have been Aunt Bella and Riddle. And if they <em>had</em> been killed, certainly the Sovereignty would have celebrated their deaths to the point of excessiveness, wouldn't they have?</p><p>Not that it mattered, he supposed — he doubted even Riddle had the power to undo what had been done to them — but the idea that the legendarily powerful Resistance leader and his aunt might have gotten away was comforting, somehow.</p><p>He squeezed Pansy's shoulders reassuringly with the arm he had wrapped around them. "I think Peia'd be able to tell if her mum weren't alive anymore, don't you?"</p><p>Pansy brightened. "Oh, I didn't think of that. You're right; of course!" She paused, nibbling on her lip, before she looked back up at him. "I just — Draco, that awful day — what <em>happened?"</em></p><p>His mother's surprised scream pierced his memory. His eyes abruptly began to burn, and Draco promptly squeezed them shut.</p><p>He was surprised the question hadn't come sooner.</p><p>Lowly, he said, "Someone betrayed us, Pans."</p><p>For a moment, only silence met his words.</p><p><em>"Who?"</em> she finally whispered, sounding horrified.</p><p>Draco shook his head. "It could have been anyone." The inexplicable mystery had eaten away at him since the very day of his capture, and the frustration he felt suddenly bubbled into his voice. "<em>Everyone</em> knew about the plan, they just couldn't say anything about it. But as soon as my mother — as soon as they had —" He felt ill, and he trailed off and cleared his throat, struggling to voice the words he knew he needed to say. "Once she was - dead, the First Viceroy got a message about it almost immediately. At that point, any one of them would have been free to tell her that information. <em>Anyone."</em></p><p>Tears shone in her eyes. "But why? Why would anyone who was already leaving want to prevent their own escape — want to leave us all to <em>this?" </em>She gestured around her with her hands, and he knew she meant their imprisonment.</p><p>He again shook his head limply. "You know how many conservatives thought we should stay. All I can guess is that it was one of them."</p><p>"But they weren't told the plan, were they?"</p><p>He shrugged tiredly. "Perhaps they overheard. Or pretended they supported the idea so they'd learn everything they needed to."</p><p>She was quiet again for a long time, while Draco tried not to focus on the memory of the nightmare from which he'd only just jolted awake.</p><p>"I'm so terribly sorry about your mum," she whispered eventually. Her shoulders had stiffened, and he knew she was trying not to cry.</p><p>Draco's throat tightened, and he nodded tautly. Even two years later, it was one of the few actions he could manage in response. "Me too," he croaked hoarsely.</p><p>"Draco?" Pansy asked much later, after the room had become so filled with light he expected either Evans or Hermione to emerge from their respective dorms at any moment, "How long do you think this is going to last?"</p><p>He knew what she meant, and shook his head and sighed. "I don't know."</p><p>Pansy was staring off into the fireplace, her gaze troubled. Perhaps it was because he'd just been thinking of his mother that he knew exactly what Narcissa would have exclaimed if she'd seen the both of them:</p><p>
  <em>Chin up, darlings! We aren't at a funeral! Life has plenty of hardship, it's true, but look at you now! You are together. You're alive. And if that's all there is - then it is </em>
  <strong>
    <em>enough.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>The wisdom and hope that the memory of her presence gave Draco had been one of the few things that had kept his spirit alive in a place where constant suffering threatened to smother every ounce of life and joy from his soul.</p><p>It was in those darkest, cruelest places that he had discovered the truth of the counsel she'd given him in their flat so many years ago: the tiniest, simplest moments of peace, of kindness, even of love, held more meaning and worth to him than anything else the world could ever attempt to provide. Indeed, those moments were so rare as they were sacred that he'd found they were always cause for celebration when they occurred - or, at the very least, some degree of hope or buoyed spirits.</p><p>No, he decided, Pansy's face was unacceptably despondent if one considered they were somehow together again, and in a safe and decent place, even though he had no way of telling how long any of it would last.</p><p>He elbowed her lightly. "You know what that means, don't you?"</p><p>When Pansy looked over at him questioningly, he turned toward her fully, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "We've got<em> loooads</em> of lost time to make up for while we're here."</p><p>Immediately, she tensed. Her blue eyes studied him suspiciously. "Draco… Draco, no…"</p><p>When his hand shot out toward her right side — her only side he knew was ticklish — she jerked away from him with a small shriek. "Draco Malfoy, you <em>prat!"</em></p><hr/><p>Reconfiguring the Marauders' Map turned out to be a much simpler task than sabotaging it.</p><p>As the light of morning peeked through her windows, Hermione toiled through the now-familiar structure with only half the focus she'd needed to muck with it weeks earlier. She'd set to work on it as soon as she'd risen, if only for the purpose of throwing it in Harry Evans' face so he could see exactly where she was at all times and steer clear of her as much as she wanted to avoid ever running into him.</p><p>Pansy's bed had been empty, and Hermione had guessed she was with Draco.</p><p>Draco.</p><p>At the memory of last night's emotional breakdown, Hermione wanted to bang her head against something hard, but the only thing available was the plush mattress, which would defeat the purpose of the urge entirely.</p><p>Except for the time she was seven and had come home from school to find her very first pet, a chubby hamster named Rex, dead in his hamster wheel (she'd wailed to her parents for hours while they'd buried him under the plum tree in the backyard), never in her life had Hermione lost it completely in front of anyone —<em> never, </em>not even Harry during the Horcrux search, though she'd certainly cried plenty of times then. But when she had, she'd always walked away, found her own space, did what she'd needed and composed herself before returning. Even though Harry and Ron must have known what was happening, they had rarely interrupted her.</p><p>And that had simply been crying.</p><p>Last night had been something different altogether.</p><p>Looking back on it, Hermione likened what she'd experienced to the terror of being lost in utter darkness near the edge of a cliff, the sound of waves crashing all around providing no indication of how to retreat... and unwittingly stepping into thin air. It was the closest she had ever come to allowing herself to descend so deeply into depression, blind panic and soul-sucking despair that her very sanity was threatened alongside it. Without a doubt, it had been one of the most frightening things she had ever experienced, and she reluctantly had to admit…</p><p>She was grateful Draco had been there. Even though he still hadn't had any idea of who she really was or why she was here.</p><p>Meanwhile, Harry Evans was prepared to crucify her with his gaze alone, even though she'd already told him the truth of her history and her good intentions.</p><p>And Draco had been…</p><p>Well, Hermione couldn't deny it. Draco Malfoy had been wonderfully sensitive, to the point where even <em>she</em> had sensed his concern. The minute she'd stopped crying and found she could actually breathe and think <em>clearly</em> again, she'd had to ask,</p><p>
  <em>"Draco… Who do you think I am? I've told my story to two people, and neither of them have accepted me like you have. </em>
  <em>Why?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He hesitated. "What do you mean?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She shrugged. "When I told Pansy, about who I am, really, I got the impression she thought it was just an alias, that she was just waiting for me to turn into some conservative spy and, I don't know, break her out, I suppose. And Harry - Morgana, he's interrogated me like the bloody Inquisitorial Squad for days. You don't even know why I'm not My anymore, or my motivations, but you haven't asked me a thing about it since the day I arrived."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He looked down at his hands. "I think… I'd rather you told me," he said slowly. He glanced toward her briefly. "I reckoned you'd do it when you were ready, if you wanted to."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She shook her head fervently and wiped again at her swollen eyes, sniffing. "You'll think I'm mad."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I won't." He looked back at her earnestly. "I swear to you, I won't."</em>
</p><p><em>He sounded so sincere that she stared at him, searching his genuine gaze for any indication that he wasn't truly interested in, or might be severely judgmental of, what she was suddenly very ready to - no, </em>needed<em> to - say.</em></p><p>
  <em>She found none.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So she told him everything.</em>
</p><p><em>About Harry, and Ron, and how words could not describe how close the three of them were. About wise old Dumbledore who wasn't bad at all and a different Dark Lord named Voldemort who had once been called Tom Riddle, and how they had fought him for years and had only just defeated him when she had inexplicably been ripped here. She told him about the cruel, nasty version of </em>him<em>, even, and how all his acquaintances were horrific and prejudiced in her world but seemed to be the only good people here; how Snape was a mystery in both Universe A and this one, and how she didn't know why her parents were dead here, only that they were... and how much it hurt that the Harry of this universe still hated her so much.</em></p><p>
  <em>The story simply spilled from her lips, and as it did she found she was unable to stop, even if she'd wanted to.</em>
</p><p><em>He'd stayed mostly silent but had asked a few pointed questions throughout her narrative that made it clear he was listening. At the end, when she'd been so worried he would turn into Harry Evans and despise her for simply being who she was, he only shook his head and said, "Even a mad person couldn't make up something </em>that<em> mad, Hermione."</em></p><p>
  <em>And then he gave her a small, reassuring smile that told her more than anything else that he believed her.</em>
</p><p><em>The exchange of pure emotion between them had caused something to shift, and Hermione suddenly felt more comfortable sitting right where she was than she had felt anywhere else in the whole of her time in Universe B. </em><em>To her incredulity, she actually laughed in relief instead of crying all over again like she'd feared she would, finally, </em>finally<em> feeling like herself again - like she wasn't about to split apart in a million different pieces.</em></p><p>
  <em>"Merlin... what are you even still doing here?" She wiped her face one last time - the eyeliner and mascara and Merlin knew whatever else she slapped on every morning must have gotten everywhere - and nudged him slightly toward the door. "For heavens' sake, you haven't seen Pansy in years. Go be with her. I'm much better now, really."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For a moment, he didn't move, just studied her closely. Then he gave her another smile, his eyes kind, and nodded. "I'm glad."</em>
</p><p><em>He used the foot of the bed to pull himself to his feet, turning to go. Before he did, he looked back and waved his finger at her, his eyes initially teasing before shifting to seriousness. "Don't -</em> ever…<em> hold something like that inside yourself for that long again."</em></p><p>
  <em>Hermione couldn't help but think about how different those words were from Ron's mournful exclamation of, 'Girls! Crying all the time!', and she smiled again. </em>
  <em>A moment before Draco reached the door, she shook herself from the memory of her world and called, "Draco!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He looked back at her. For as quickly as she'd been comfortable moments earlier, she suddenly felt incredibly awkward and instead studied the Weasley sweater she was again holding in her lap after she'd shown it to him during her narrative. "Thanks. You know… For that."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His eyes softened. "I'm more than happy to listen to you. Anytime."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She snorted and shook her head. "I seriously doubt that."</em>
</p><p><em>The look he gave her then was anything but amused, and it stirred something within her that she was not prepared to examine or consider. </em>"Anytime,<em> Hermione."</em></p><p>"Hermione… Hermione?"</p><p>The very same voice jolted her from the memory. She blinked quickly to find both Pansy and Draco standing near her room's entrance.</p><p>"Oh - sorry about that!" Hermione shook her head, focusing on the pair of them.</p><p>Draco was already looking at her intently. For a moment she felt the urge to avoid his gaze, before she shook the peculiar sensation away, and instead thought about how strange it was to see the two Slytherins together. She'd gotten so used to spending separate time with their Universe B personalities that the sight of them beside each other immediately sent her mind back to the Pansy and Draco of Universe A.</p><p>And this Draco also had dark circles beneath his eyes.</p><p>"How was your night with Hogwarts' very own Hungarian Horntail?" she asked somewhat sarcastically. "No limbs lost in your sleep?"</p><p>Draco and Pansy exchanged a look she almost didn't catch before Pansy swiftly shut the bedroom door and Draco said slowly, "It… could have been worse."</p><p>"Harry threw him out," Pansy said matter-of-factly, coming back to stand alongside him.</p><p>Hermione sat up, her anger flaring. "He <em>what?"</em></p><p>"Believe me, it was for the best," Draco said quickly, shooting Pansy a glare.</p><p>"The best?" Hermione echoed in disbelief. "Oh, of course it would be the best, for <em>him. </em>Where exactly did he expect you to sleep, the sofa? I hope he at least conjured you a mattress-"</p><p>"Hermione," he said firmly, holding up a hand with the slightest of winces, "If we're going to be perfectly honest, I'd much rather sleep on the couch than with Evans any day."</p><p>Behind him, Pansy snorted and stifled a giggle. For a moment, Draco looked exasperated, but the amused grey eyes that found Hermione's said otherwise. She couldn't help but meet his expression with a slight smile before he shook his head and looked back over his shoulder. "Your maturity is stunning, Pans."</p><p>"Sorry, I know, I know, it's just - The way you said it—"</p><p>"Perhaps you missed the part where I also said I would <em>much</em> prefer to sleep on the sofa."</p><p>Pansy continued to laugh at the idea of it, and Hermione smiled as she watched them interact. Their lighthearted, good-natured banter was like a breath of fresh air from the dark-themed conversations of her classmates that normally surrounded her.</p><p>Draco shuffled a bit closer to her and looked down, tapping his fingers on the bed. "What is this?"</p><p>Hermione followed his motion. The blueprint of Hogwarts reflected back at her on weathered parchment, even though she didn't fully recall the moment she'd finished fixing it. Well, at least she'd completed that job before she zoned out entirely.</p><p>"The Marauders' Map, of course," she said automatically, before she realized that <em>of course</em> he wouldn't have known what it was.</p><p>"Oh, that's right! You haven't seen it before, have you?" Pansy came up beside them and sat down on the edge of her bed. "Can I show him, Hermione?"</p><p>Hermione nodded and flipped the map around. Draco sat down too, and Hermione edged sideways to make room on the bed so they were all looking at it from a decent angle. Pansy quickly scanned the map with her finger, clearly familiar with its layout, then pointed at a moving dot labeled 'Susan Bones.' "See? It shows where everyone in Hogwarts is at all times. There's the Hufflepuff Basement..."</p><p>They studied the slowly budding activity there as Pansy continued to explain the basic principles of the map. It was still fairly early, even for a class day, and though many students were clustered in their dorms, some were starting to rise.</p><p>"Amazing," Draco said, tilting his head slightly to peer at some of the scripted location names. "I take it we would be on here somewhere as well, then."</p><p>"Yes. We… are right…" Hermione flipped the map over and easily found their location, pointing to the east side of the castle. "Here. The Central Tower." She laid her fingers on three dots clustered together with their names on them, then ran her fingers to the Head Boy's room and the dot that said 'Harry Evans,' the spiteful toad. "And this is…"</p><p>Abruptly, she noticed another label in the Head Common Room.</p><p>'Lily Evans' was hurtling toward her quarters.</p><p>Pansy let out a horrified gasp. "Is that…?"</p><p>
  <em>Holy hell.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Scars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pansy let out a horrified gasp. "Is that…?"</p><p>
  <em>Holy hell.</em>
</p><p>Hermione swiftly transfigured the map into a hairbrush and in the same motion shrunk the Universe A knapsack to the size of a near-invisible pinpoint as Pansy and Draco jumped up from her bed. <em>What would My do, what would My do…?</em></p><p>"Take off your shirt!" Draco suddenly hissed, already removing his own.</p><p>Hermione stared at him blankly. <em>"What?"</em></p><p>He raised his eyebrows as if the answer was obvious, but discernible panic was in his eyes. "I'm your new House-Wizard, aren't I? Wouldn't you likely be <em>using</em> me?"</p><p>Her mind swiftly processed the disturbing logic of that alibi. Within a second she'd turned away from him, vanishing her nightshirt and the sweatshirt he'd dropped on the floor so she was only wearing a bra and the pair of shorts she'd slept in. Quickly, she thought about everything she knew about Lily Evans, which quite honestly was unacceptably little:</p><p>Brilliant.</p><p>Dangerous.</p><p>Second most powerful person in the<em> entire bloody Sovereignty.</em></p><p>And somehow, inexplicably… her mother. That meant they had to have some kind of connection, didn't it?</p><p>She began to run through a story in her head, swiftly repeating it over and over as she prepared herself to use everything she'd ever learned about Occlumency.</p><p>Just then, the sound of heeled shoes began to click on the finished wooden stairs leading up to her room. The footsteps were swift yet deliberate, and Hermione felt each of them as if they were individually stabbing into her own body.</p><p><em>"Massage!" </em>she hissed frantically, pulling Draco after her onto the bed as she saw Pansy dart into the closet and pull the door mostly shut.</p><p>Hermione plopped flat on her stomach, burying the right side of her face into her comforter so her head faced away from her door, her heart pounding so hard she was certain it was audible to all of Scotland. Just as swiftly, the bed lilted to the left as Draco knelt beside her, cold, trembling hands hesitantly touching her skin.</p><p>
  <em>Oh dear god, please let me be convincing, please let me be convincing…</em>
</p><p>Her door opened with such force it collided loudly with the bureau beside it.</p><p>A burst of panicked adrenaline exploded through her system.</p><p>Adopted mother or not, it was very clear from her entrance that Lily Evans was not pleased.</p><p>The heavily heeled footsteps entered the room, and Hermione fought not to wince again when Draco's knuckles abruptly pressed down hard into her back.</p><p>"Hermione Granger Evans. What are you doing with that <em>filth</em> of a Fusty?"</p><p>The throaty female voice was at once smooth, deadly, and <em>familiar. </em>It took Hermione only a second to recognize it as that of the perilously perceptive woman who'd emerged from Lucius Malfoy's prison with McGonagall.</p><p>A chill of pure dread shot down her spine before Draco began to knead it harder.</p><p>Somehow, the rhythm of his motions and touch inexplicably helped to calm her.</p><p>
  <em>Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. She doesn't know you're a fake; how could anyone ever expect that? Just be My.</em>
</p><p>"Mmmmm…" Hermione let out a long sigh of satisfaction without turning to look toward the voice, slowly stretching her arms above her head toward the headboard. "Enjoying Ronáld's nauseatingly repulsive House-Wizard so I can shove it in his face, obviously." She sniggered. "Really, do you think I would let a <em>Fusty</em> touch me otherwise?"</p><p>She let her arms drop back to the bed and held her breath, clenching her fingers to keep them from shaking.</p><p>The shoes clicked closer.</p><p>"I am not amused, nor should you be. Sit up. Look at me. And you—"</p><p>The weight of Draco's hands vanished from her back, as if he'd sat up, frozen. Then Hermione felt more than saw a spell silently cast, and she watched in horror as he slammed into the wall alongside her bedroom windows. He crumpled to the floor, his eyes closed. Something twisted inside her, and she again reminded herself to breathe.</p><p><em>"Seriously?"</em> she exclaimed dramatically, forcing as much irritation into the one word as she could. "That disgusting louse was finally getting the hang of it!"</p><p>She steeled herself, forced all thought from her mind except the ones directly in front of her, and rolled her head to face the direction of Lily Evans.</p><p>A stunningly beautiful woman stared back down at her. She stood coolly beside Hermione's dresser, her arms crossed, wand hanging casually from between her index and middle fingers, wearing leather boots, skin-tight black designer trousers, a fitted silk top with a ruffled, v-cut neck and a tailored inky black robe that seemed to at once absorb and reflect the early morning light. Deep red hair tumbled over one shoulder and down her back in large, voluminous curls as perfect as My's.</p><p>She looked thoroughly unimpressed.</p><p>"Perhaps your most recent illicit activities have left you hearing impaired," she said, her tone as slow and sensuous as it was caustic, successfully embodying every trait that Hermione had awkwardly tried to fake as her Universe B counterpart. "Did you not hear a thing I just said?"</p><p>
  <em>Illicit activi—? Oh god.</em>
</p><p>If Lily still thought she was My — which she seemed to — then Hermione knew without a doubt exactly why she was here.</p><p>But she had obtained Draco completely legally!</p><p>Hermione automatically opened her mouth to whine... and blanked completely. What should she call her? Mum? Mother? Lily? Lady Evans?</p><p>One uncharacteristic word could destroy everything…</p><p>She decided to skip a title before she started to panic.</p><p>"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," she muttered snidely.</p><p>Lily ignored her. "For goodness sake, My, put a shirt on, and do it quickly. I'm not here for small talk." She used her wand to yank open the middle drawer of her dresser and launch a blouse at her.</p><p>Hermione dangled the thin shirt in front of her distastefully before she dropped it on her bed and glared at Lily, focusing very closely on the red-headed woman's reactions to determine how to respond… and if she needed to alter her act to remain convincing.</p><p>Lily's eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't look at me like that, daughter; I'm not in the mood. Put on that shirt immediately, and then you and I are going to have a little chat."</p><p>Hermione pursed her lips, but made a show of reluctantly complying, wrenching the too-tight blouse over her head, even though she was more than happy to be fully dressed again. She knew her story for taking Draco like the back of her hand. She had no idea if Lily would buy it, but so far everyone else had, and that knowledge alone made her feel like she had a slightly better grip on the situation.</p><p>She pasted an irritated expression on her face and looked at Lily impatiently. Harry's mother had folded herself into the armchair across from Hermione's bed like a queen, one arm casually resting on the armrest while long, manicured nails slowly drummed against the front of it.</p><p>"Fine," Hermione said irreverently. "<em>What?"</em></p><p>Lily's fingers stopped moving. She studied Hermione with chilly eyes. "I thought I made it very clear the last time that you will never speak to me with that attitude."</p><p>Hermione scowled and sighed, her heart pounding so quickly she was afraid it must have been noticible, then muttered, "Sorry."</p><p>Lily leaned forward abruptly, her cool expression suddenly cracking. "What exactly were you thinking — or were you? Pawning yourself off like a strumpet to get your hands on a worthless sack of bones? And what - for your own amusement? Were you not raised with an <em>ounce</em> of propriety?"</p><p>Hermione indignantly opened her mouth to protest on her parents' behalf, but Lily cut her off. "Your utterly thoughtless actions have thrown insult on my second viceroy's entire family, not to mention <em>me." </em>She levelled a dangerous expression on Hermione.<em> "</em>You will return him at once."</p><p>For a moment, Hermione could only stare at her in disbelief. Then a fierce unwillingness to accept that order flared within her, despite Lily's inarguable words of warning only seconds before.</p><p>"I will <em>not!"</em> she retorted heatedly, jumping to her feet, the pillow she'd pulled to her earlier still in hand. "If I give him back — when he's <em>mine</em> now, fair and square — Ronáld will never let me hear the end of it, that pretentious arse!"</p><p>Lily suddenly sat up straight, her eyes dark. "Hermione G. Evans, would you <em>dare </em>defy—"</p><p>"Do you know what he did to me?" Hermione hissed, flinging down her pillow. "Broke up with me - very publicly - for<em> another</em> filthy Old-Blood. An Old-Blood. For me. Talking about throwing on insult - It was <em>disgusting</em>. He deserved everything he got, and every time he goes to use his precious little House-Wizard and finds he can't, he'll be reminded of exactly that," she spat honestly.</p><p>And then she took a breath and prayed with everything she had and looked back at Lily.</p><p>The red-headed witch's expression had suddenly become extremely calculating, her green eyes penetrating.</p><p>For a moment, Hermione was jolted completely from her 'My' immersion. Panic shot straight through her chest.</p><p>
  <em>Good Merlin. She knows.</em>
</p><p>But then a very small smile pulled at one corner of Lily's scarlet lips. "Is <em>that</em> what happened."</p><p>An almost giddy relief surged through Hermione like a second wind propelling her forward. She irately raised her eyebrows at the other woman as if to say, "Well, obviously."</p><p>"Of course, Arthur would have failed to mention those details." Lily smoothly crossed one slender leg over the other and leaned toward Hermione thoughtfully in the same action. "You say you obtained him legally."</p><p>Hermione lifted her chin, trying to ignore the desperate hope that began to blossom through her chest. "Made a bet with him he could <em>never</em> win. And he didn't, of course. Half the school saw it happen." She glared at her sullenly, crossing her arms. She was not prepared to back down on this, and from what she knew of My, she wouldn't have, either — though likely for very different reasons. "I'm <em>not</em> about to just 'return him.' "</p><p>Lily sat back, both sides of her lips pulling upward slightly in a decidedly measured, but pleased, expression. "Well. It would seem Arthur has no claim after all."</p><p>Despite her impassive exterior, Hermione could tell from the focused intensity of the woman's piercing green gaze alone that she was perpetually observing, perpetually alert beneath the very cool facade.</p><p>And that alone made her more dangerous than any other person Hermione had met here.</p><p>
  <em>Get her out of the room, get her out of the room…</em>
</p><p>"So are you through yelling at me for no good reason,<em> mother?"</em> she asked impudently, sneeringly twisting the last word so it could be interpreted as mocking in case My usually called her Lily or any other title instead.</p><p>Lily's eyes focused back on her again. "Mm. I suppose I am."</p><p>She leaned forward, as if to stand. And it was then that Hermione noticed her do something… strange.</p><p>She stretched out the pale fingers of her right hand, then relaxed them into a cup, almost as if she was suddenly holding something that hadn't been there before. The movement was so quick that if Hermione hadn't been so attentive she wouldn't have caught it at all, and Lily swiftly pushed her fingers against the front of the armrest before she straightened in one elegant motion.</p><p>For the briefest of seconds, Hermione saw something tiny and round and red and black where Lily's hand had been that did not belong there.</p><p>
  <em>Oh damn.</em>
</p><p>As Lily strolled past her, Hermione jerked her gaze away, desperately trying to keep her face composed rather than panicked. It had to be some kind of magical sensor — or whatever new Muggle-like spying technology the Sovereignty had devised in this Universe. And if it had any kind of filming capacity like the camera in Lucius Malfoy's cell had—</p><p>"Oh. My."</p><p>Her heart jumped to her throat, and she quickly pasted an expression of bored indifference on her face before she looked over at her 'mother.'</p><p>Lily had turned slightly back toward Hermione, though she wasn't looking at her, instead idly running a finger down the open dresser drawer. Her lips were pursed slightly - almost indecisively, Hermione would have said, had she not known better. "Let me tell you a little something about men," she said slowly.</p><p>Hermione crossed her arms, jutting out her hip, all too aware that someone or something else might now be watching her from a completely different angle. "What? They're pig-headed idiots, the lot of them? Thanks, but I've already got that figured—"</p><p>"Let me<em> talk."</em> Lily abruptly shoved the drawer shut with a <em>bang!;</em> Hermione jumped slightly as Harry's mother turned to face her completely. "You and I… We're beautiful women, My," she said matter-of-factly, her tone extremely knowing. "And when a woman is beautiful, duping men through sex is all too easy. That makes doing it frequently extremely tempting. But once you have a reputation for it, few will respect your power or fall for your charms again." She leaned one shoulder against the dresser, studying Hermione with an almost conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. "Take the advice of… someone with far more experience. Save your deceit for the battles that count."</p><p>The irony of the conversation was almost too much, and if her nerves weren't so frayed at the thought of a potential bug placed only five feet away from her, Hermione might have been amused.</p><p>She widened her eyes theatrically. "Are you saying what I did to Ronáld was <em>wrong?"</em></p><p>Lily shrugged dispassionately. "Right, wrong… those words are very subjective. I have no doubt the Weasley brat had it coming. The question is, was it worth it in the grand scheme of your <em>own</em> objectives?" She straightened off the dresser and prowled toward the door with the deliberate steps of a panther, then looked back at Hermione once more. "Between the two of us, Weasley's father may be Viceroy now, but I assure you such an Old-Blood family will not remain in that position of power forever. And when it opens, well - what is it I've always told you?"</p><p>Hermione froze.</p><p>She abruptly felt like a deer trapped in the headlights of Lily's electrifyingly green gaze.</p><p>
  <em>Oh bugger.</em>
</p><p>As one of Lily's thin eyebrows arched expectantly, she felt her vision begin to narrow in panic, and she wracked her brain frantically. What would her 'mother' have said to her about an open Viceroy position… That a Muggle-born would take it? That <em>My </em>would take it? That—</p><p>"Mother? What are you doing here?"</p><p>The laser-like beams left hers, and Hermione almost gasped in relief at the sight of none other than Harry Evans standing in her doorframe.</p><p>A frown briefly crossed Lily's face, before she stretched her lips into a decidedly artificial smile and turned toward him. "Oh Harry, darling." She walked to him and leaned her face close to the side of his, lowering her voice, but not so much that Hermione missed her words. "You could at least pretend to sound pleased to see me."</p><p>He gazed darkened. "Why? You never sound pleased to see me."</p><p>"Perhaps you forget I'm your mother. I have the privilege of that option." Lily stood back and examined him again, her lip curled just slightly. "For the love of Merlin, shave your face. You look ridiculous."</p><p>Harry's jaw tightened as she emotionlessly brushed past him and out the door.</p><p>Their icy exchange left Hermione stunned. She knew he wasn't entirely Sovereignty-loyal, not with his bond with Pansy, but she had never expected him to have such a cold relationship with his own mother - not when Lily Potter had sacrificed herself for Harry in Universe A! It made the conversation Lily had had with Hermione-As-My downright motherly in comparison, which was bizarre enough, because Hermione wasn't even a blood relation like Harry was.</p><p>For a moment, Harry's angry gaze shifted to hers, surveying her with the same emerald intensity as his mother. Hermione could hear Lily's boots descending the stairs behind him, and she held her breath, waiting, just <em>waiting</em> for him to say something that would give her away…</p><p>But after an indecipherable stare that lasted long enough to be uncomfortable, he simply turned his head and disappeared back down the stairs.</p><p>Hermione let out a small breath and immediately collapsed dramatically onto her back on the massive bed. Her brain kicked into overdrive.</p><p>Lily had bugged her chair.</p><p>She had to destroy it immediately without arousing suspicion.</p><p>
  <em>How?</em>
</p><p>She tilted her head backward toward the half-open wardrobe the moment she heard a small shuffle inside it. In the shadows of the cavernous closet, she could see Pansy edging toward the partially open door wearing her old House-Witch uniform - Hermione had no idea where she'd found it - a large pile of clothing folded in her arms.</p><p>Abruptly, Hermione raised her hands up over her head in what could have been a stretch, but she used the motion to catch Pansy's eye and shook her head ever so slightly in warning. Pansy's blue eyes widened, and she quickly retreated deeper into the closet again.</p><p>Hermione refocused.</p><p>She couldn't use magic. That would be far too obvious, especially if the device had a spell detection sensor like she suspected it did.</p><p>And if she couldn't use magic, that left…</p><p>As soon as the distant sound of clicking footsteps faded from the common room itself, Hermione sat up, shoving as much emotion and anger into her expression as she possibly could. She glared fiercely at the empty armchair in which Lily Evans had been sitting, trying not to look directly at the spotted red dot on the armrest.</p><p>" 'Put a shirt on, My,' " she said snidely, imitating Lily's voice. "Just who does she think she is? I'm nineteen <em>bloody</em> years old; how dare she tell me what to do?"</p><p>With that, Hermione snatched up her bedside lamp and fiercely threw it toward the armchair, trying to make it look as though she wasn't aiming for anything in particular even though she certainly was.</p><p>Her hand was shaking.</p><p>She missed.</p><p>The lamp sailed past the tiny, inconspicuous device, instead smashing into the wall behind the chair and shattering loudly. Hermione held back a curse and kept scowling; she needed a reason to throw something again—</p><p>Just then… the red and black 'bug' sprouted <em>wings.</em></p><p>Shock and a silent shriek burst through her chest.</p><p>Before she could blink, it was scurrying off down the arm of the chair, heading for the floor.</p><p>
  <em>Holy mother of —</em>
</p><p>Hermione began to seize various objects off her bedside table and hurl them in the direction of the chair, trying not to look obvious as she took careful aim at the now literal bug running down the front of the armrest. "I - will - <em>wear - </em>as - <em>much</em> - or - as - <em>little</em> - as - I - <em>bloody</em> - <em>well</em> - <em>like!"</em></p><p>On 'like,' she snatched up the last thing within reaching distance, a solid gold elephant trinket the size of her hand, and threw it desperately.</p><p>It slammed into the chair near where she had last seen the bug, then fell to the floor with a heavy thud.</p><p>She gasped in a shallow breath.</p><p>The bug was nowhere in sight.</p><p>A full-sized elephant may as well have been sitting on her chest for her inability to acquire air. Swiftly, she marched over to pick up the gold elephant, still trying to maintain an incensed, My-like expression in case it had gotten away. As she bent down to grab the bauble, she quickly scanned the floor around the armchair, hoping, <em>hoping—</em></p><p>She could hardly restrain herself from falling to her knees in relief.</p><p>A crushed, ladybug-like contraption lay near the chair's right foot.</p><p>If that thing had gotten away…</p><p>Hermione shook her head, panting heavily. She didn't even want to think about what could have happened.</p><p>She crouched down warily, examining it from a safe distance. From what she could see, it was an incredibly bizarre combination of Muggle and magical technology, not much bigger than the nail on her pinky, but from its mangled state, she had assumed she'd destroyed it - physically, at least.</p><p>Any enchantments on it could still be intact.</p><p>She drew her wand and focused on her target intently. "Specialis revelio," she breathed as silently as she could.</p><p>The scripted list of enchantments and Dark Arts construction spells that materialized in the air before her was formidable.</p><p>The fractured, tiny device did indeed show evidence of several detection enchantments − and not just of spells, which meant it would have detected whatever magic was performed in its vicinity, but also of images, sounds, and magical disguises.</p><p>Good Merlin… if she hadn't by some stroke of good fortune noticed Lily leaving it behind, it would have captured <em>everything.</em></p><p>And that would have been as good as a death sentence for them all.</p><p>Hermione felt sick, overwhelmed, but she forced herself to keep thinking. Its transmitting ability must have been rooted in its Muggle construction and thus was likely destroyed. Just in case, she wove small, concentrated wards around it and then carefully cast a complicated Runic enchantment to see if any similar spells had been placed elsewhere around her room.</p><p>When it the search came up empty, she left the bug where it lay and swiftly summoned the hairbrush to her, transfiguring it back into the Marauder's Map. She hadn't closed it with 'mischief managed' before she'd transfigured it, and she flipped it over to the correct side.</p><p>The head quarters were empty, except for Harry, who was in the common room.</p><p>'Lily Evans' had already moved to another page.</p><p>She finally allowed herself to slump to the ground, trying to still her sweaty, shaking hands and slow her pounding heart. She wanted, needed to study it further so she could determine how to find and subvert similar devices, but now wasn't the time.</p><p>"We're clear," she said weakly.</p><p>
  <em>For now.</em>
</p><p>She heard movement behind her, and looked back over her shoulder to see Pansy creep from the closet, the stack of My's clothing still clutched to her chest. She stared at her. "What <em>happened?" </em>she whispered.</p><p>Hermione sighed heavily. "We were bugged."</p><p>Her eyes widened. "Is it still—"</p><p>"No. Not now."</p><p>Pansy's rigid shoulders collapsed slightly, and her gaze shifted to the other side of Hermione's bed. Hermione jolted slightly as she remembered what had happened to Draco, but before she could even stand, Pansy had dropped the clothing on the ground and darted toward the corner of the room where he'd landed. "Draco! Are you alright?"</p><p>"I'm… fine, Pans." His response was weary, but conscious.</p><p>Suddenly, Pansy sucked in a sharp gasp of horror.</p><p>In a heartbeat, Hermione was sitting up straight on her knees so she could see over the bed. The dark-haired woman had gone rigid, holding a hand to her mouth, in a half-crouch a few feet from where Draco had begun to shift himself up off the ground and to a sitting position.</p><p>Her eyes were fixed on his bare torso, still shirtless after he'd shucked his jumper in their earlier roleplay.</p><p>"Did they… Did they do all that to you?" she asked faintly, sounding choked.</p><p>At once, Hermione realized what was affecting her so greatly, and she leapt to her feet. "Pansy…" she said cautiously, hurrying around the too-large bed.</p><p>Draco had hunched over himself, as if trying to block Pansy's view of his deeply marred skin, his back pressed against the wall. "It isn't important," he muttered tautly.</p><p>"What do you mean, it <em>isn't important? </em>It <em>is</em> important, Draco!" she cried. The tears in her eyes began to slip down her face, and she sank to her knees. "Oh sweet Merlin, how could they even<em> l-live</em> with themselves? I-I can't- It's - It's barbaric! You never did anything to them! You didn't—"</p><p>At that moment, Hermione reached her, and gently but firmly took her by the shoulders and urged her back to her feet, pulling her away from him. "Pansy, I think what everyone might need right now is a bit of space."</p><p>Pansy wiggled out of her grasp, wiping her red-rimmed eyes. <em>"No—</em> No. Hermione, you have to do something for him. Isn't there something you can—"</p><p>"There isn't anything <em>wrong</em> with me!" he suddenly burst out, his hands so clenched his fingers were digging deep into his arms, and Hermione knew exactly what he was feeling because she knew very well what Harry Potter had always endured whenever people ogled his scar.</p><p>And Draco had far more than a hundred times the number that Harry had.</p><p>Pansy looked stunned at his outburst. Hermione took advantage of the distraction to step in front of her, blocking the blue-eyed girl's horrified, gaping gaze. "Pansy, I know you have his best intentions at heart," she said in a low voice, "but when I say leave now, I don't mean for it to be a suggestion."</p><p>Pansy finally focused on her, tears seeping from her eyes. "Hermione—"</p><p>She stood back and pointed to the door. <em>"Pansy."</em></p><p>The Slytherin pressed her lips together unhappily. Still, after a moment, she wordlessly turned and left, closing the door behind her.</p><p>Hermione sighed as she watched her go. She knew very well what it was like to be the worried best friend, and she felt for Pansy, she truly did… but not as much as she did for Draco. There might be a time for them to talk about what had happened, but it wasn't now.</p><p>Not when Draco had never wanted her to find out in the first place.</p><p>She shook her head and looked back down at him, still crouched in nearly the same position, though he'd turned farther away from where both women had stood, which revealed more of his back.</p><p>It was mottled and scarred beyond recognition.</p><p>No matter how many times Hermione had seen Draco's bare skin while healing him, it still affected her too, made her as distressed as Pansy and enraged and appalled at the savage brutality of this universe that called itself 'progressive' but made treatment like this <em>common law </em>toward anyone deemed a threat. But as with Harry Potter, she had learned quickly enough that it was far better if she never showed her impressions outwardly around him.</p><p>She hesitated, then moved closer and crouched down beside him. Draco didn't even look over at her approach, though his blond hair obscured her view of his face, limply tumbling into his eyes and down past his neck in uneven straggles, as if someone at some point had simply sawed sections of it off with a knife. That the idea might very well have been accurate infuriated her, and it occurred to her that he might want it cut again- this time, correctly. She would have to ask him later.</p><p>Now, she re-conjured the sweater he'd been wearing earlier and held it out. "Draco?" she said softly.</p><p>He tensed. "Please don't," he said, his strained voice uncharacteristically dull.</p><p>She wondered if he thought she was going to press him for answers, or conversation, or, worst of all, ask if he was alright, which he obviously wasn't.</p><p>"I'm not." She moved the sweater closer to his lowered line of vision. "I just thought you might want this."</p><p>Draco finally looked up slightly, though not at her. Silently, he took the jumper with a wavering hand, unfurling himself to pull it over his head. It was maroon and seemed expensive, with a small Gryffindor shield stamped in gold on the front left-side breast.</p><p>The colors looked alien on him.</p><p>Now that Hermione was closer, she could see that not only his fingers, but his entire body was visibly shaking. He clenched his hands into fists, again wrapping his arms around himself and hunching over slightly, staring at the floor on the other side of his body from where she knelt.</p><p>His body language clearly said he wanted to be left alone.</p><p>Draco had never pushed her away like this before. Something about what had all just happened must have been worse, in his mind, than anything else they'd experienced together. But after the way he'd been there for her last night…</p><p>Well, Hermione felt she owed it to him to stay. He had been isolated and alone in the Weasleys' custody long enough.</p><p>She took a small breath and carefully sat down next to him. The floor was cold against her mostly bare legs, her skin at once icy and wet, sweaty from her encounter with Lily, and she realized that she too was shivering. Summoning a blanket off her bed, she tucked one side of it under her legs and silently offered the other half to Draco.</p><p>He looked at the blanket apathetically, then took the offered edge from her hand and threw it over his own legs as well, his shoulder brushing against hers as he leaned back against the wall, too. Warmth blossomed at the site of contact, radiating down her arm.</p><p>Two weeks ago, even, Hermione would have pulled away from him immediately, but now she welcomed the feeling, a reassurance that he was there without even having to look. She was well aware he had become her closest friend here, even if she wasn't his. His bright personality and concern unfailingly gave her comfort whenever she found she was unsure.</p><p>She couldn't say she relied on it so much as that she deeply appreciated it.</p><p>When he stared straight ahead into the expanse of her room, she did the same, their arms still pressed together.</p><p>She let her thoughts drift where they wanted, namely to how in the names of Merlin and Morgana she was going to handle the suddenly very tangible threat of Lily Evans. Once only a distant spectre, it was now quite clear that Lily (or anyone of her ranking, likely) could encroach on the Head Girl and Head Boy whenever they damn well pleased - obviously, a potentially disastrous predicament.</p><p>What they needed - immediately - was a warning system so they would at least have the same, if not more, advanced notice when this happened again. Hermione could only guess it was inevitable that it would in the time she still had here, before she found a way back home.</p><p>Good Merlin, if they hadn't decided to look for themselves on the Marauders' Map when they had…</p><p>She shuddered, unwilling to think of the consequences.</p><p>Holding out her hand, Hermione wandlessly summoned the Map to her from across the room; in a breath, it shot into her waiting palm. One of the very few benefits that had accompanied the subterfuge she'd needed to survive in Universe B had been a sharp increase in her ability to use nonverbal and wandless magic, even for complex spells. Standing alongside a very recognisable Harry Potter, she'd had little need for such drastic subtlety while fighting Voldemort.</p><p>She twisted the Map around and surveyed it warily. Pansy was in Harry's room; Harry had left the Central Tower altogether. Lily still had not returned to that side of the Map, and she flipped it over to see if she was still in the castle at all.</p><p><em>Why had she even decided to bug her room in the first place? </em>she wondered as her eyes scanned the now buzzing hallways, classes clearly about to begin. Had Lily intended it all along, or had something Hermione said led her to suspect things were off?</p><p>And, perhaps most pressingly: Would she come back once she'd realized her ladybug had been destro—</p><p>"Hermione, thank you," Draco suddenly whispered.</p><p>The words startled her from her dire contemplations. She looked over at him in surprise. He was still staring straight ahead, his eyes locked on her bed, or perhaps the wall beyond it. "What for?"</p><p>"For what you did. With… <em>her."</em></p><p>Hermione knew from his tone that he wasn't talking about Pansy.</p><p>She was confused at his gratitude. What else could she have done? It wasn't as though she'd been given a choice of whether or not she had wanted to face off with Lily Evans.</p><p>"Of course," she said.</p><p>Draco shook his head abruptly. "No, not just 'of course.' You truly don't understand the significance of what you're doing." He let out a heavy breath and tilted his head back against the wall, staring upward, his gaze unfocused. "Those people - my whole life, all they have <em>ever</em> done is make us feel less than what we are. No one else cared. No one who had any kind of power tried to stop them or say it wasn't right. Until Tom Riddle stepped in, and we learned that <em>we</em> had to do something about it, or it would only get worse. But no matter what we tried… it still did."</p><p>His gaze slipped over to hers. "They took our humanity from us, Hermione. And you - you're giving it back. For Merlin's sake, you just fought with the most dangerous woman in all of Britain so…" He took a breath and didn't finish the sentence.</p><p>"I wasn't about to let her swoop in and send you back to that <em>hell</em> without a fight," Hermione said vehemently, acutely aware that the same thing very well could have happened to <em>her </em>and other Universe A Muggle-borns had Harry's duel with Voldemort ended differently.</p><p>For the briefest of moments, he seemed surprised. Then he re-focused on her, his grey eyes filled with an unreadable intensity. Even with his tangible physical weariness and, yes, the many scars scattered like constellations across his face and neck (some fainter than others, but still far too many for <em>anyone</em> to have bourne in a lifetime), there was such life in those eyes that it was hard not to be mesmerized by them.</p><p>Abruptly, Hermione realized just how close Draco's face actually was - and that she was doing the very opposite of what he wanted by staring quite blatantly at it.</p><p>She hastily pulled her shoulder away and looked forward again, trying to breathe normally and unsure of why doing so had become difficult. They were just friends, of course. Imagine being anything else with <em>Draco Malfoy,</em> of all people - the idea was preposterous.</p><p>Even though she knew very well that this man wasn't really 'Draco Malfoy' at all.</p><p>After a few moments of what to her seemed a pronounced silence, he cleared his throat and muttered, "Just… don't ever forget there's a good reason she's so feared. She will kill without a second thought." She glanced back at him quickly to see he had bowed his head slightly, facing away from her again. He hesitated, his shoulders tensing. "I've… seen it happen, and I… I don't want it to happen to you."</p><p>Hermione was again reminded of how dangerously close they had come to discovery. Imprisonment. Yes, perhaps even - death.</p><p>She shook her head, feeling ill. "I don't want it to happen to any of us."</p><p>She needed to set up protection wards, right now. <em>Cave Inimicum</em>, the Muffliato Charm, a Blurring Charm over Harry's window like the one she'd already placed on hers if he hadn't done so already, find a way to embed an enemy warning system into the Marauder's Map so she would know remotely if anyone undesirable had entered the Head Quarters, or the School, perhaps linked with a transferral charm that would immediately send Pansy and Draco to the Room of Requirements.</p><p>Correction - <em>First</em> what she needed to do, immediately, was check the <em>common room</em> for any trace of the same spells that were on the bug Lily had left here…</p><p>She had just shifted the blanket aside and stood when Draco asked in a low voice behind her, "Is this what it felt like? For Harry Potter?"</p><p>Hermione stopped.</p><p>She understood what he meant.</p><p>"The stares? The reactions? I- I suppose, yes," she said slowly, wishing she had a better answer for him than the truth. Then again, Harry's scar had mostly caused attention because of the celebrity that it brought, not because it was simply… awful. "I don't know if he… ever got used to it, really. I think he mostly just learnt to ignore it."</p><p>Draco sighed softly and nodded, as if he'd expected that.</p><p>She turned back toward him. "You shouldn't let it define you," she said quietly, but emphatically. "You're so much more than whatever marks might be on your body."</p><p>He nodded tautly, but Hermione could tell from his posture alone he already had.</p><p>She thought for a moment, then crouched back down in front of him. "Can I show you something?"</p><p>Draco looked up at her, startled. His eyes were unexpectedly, uncharacteristically lifeless, which concerned Hermione almost as much as his unresponsiveness to her earlier had. He dully searched her face, though for what, she didn't know, until he eventually nodded.</p><p>She nodded as well and carefully took his left hand in hers, placing her other hand on his covered forearm. She remembered one particular scar she'd first noticed there on the night she'd taken him to the Hospital Wing… one particular scar that had seared more irreversibly into her memory than any of his others. She wrapped her fingers around his sleeve and began to push it back—</p><p>Draco swiftly yanked his arm close to his chest and curled into himself. "No, Hermione - not that."</p><p>"It's alright. It isn't what you think," she said, tilting her head down until she caught his averted gaze. "I promise, Draco. I <em>promise,"</em> she repeated quietly, willing reassurance into her voice and expression. "Please… let me see it."</p><p>He didn't look at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly.</p><p>"Draco?" she said softly.</p><p>He took a visibly deep breath, staring at the floor, his jaw tight.</p><p>Then, to her surprise, he slowly pushed his left jumper sleeve up to his elbow himself, and stiffly held his arm out to her, gaze still averted from hers.</p><p>Tears sprung to her eyes, though she didn't know why. She quickly blinked them back. "Thank you," she said earnestly, taking his arm lightly in her hands. She gently turned his palm upward.</p><p>The word "FUSTY" was crudely carved in large letters into his forearm's pale, tender skin.</p><p>Steeling herself, she lowered her own left arm, placing it alongside his. For a moment, Bellatrix's deranged, sneering face flashed before her eyes. Gritting her teeth, Hermione forced the image from her mind. The woman was dead now; she didn't deserve to have any power over her.</p><p>"In another world, in another life," she said, "someone put this on my arm."</p><p>She waved her wand, and the word <em>Mudblood</em> appeared scratched into her skin in almost the exact location <em>Fusty</em> was on his.</p><p>Draco's gaze shifted toward her arm, and she saw him stiffen.</p><p>For a long time, he didn't move.</p><p>She held her breath and tried not to clench her hand into a fist to hold it steady. She hoped she hadn't been completely off base in thinking this would be a good idea...</p><p>Then Draco unexpectedly reached out, wrapping his thin hand around the magically reproduced scar on her arm. He looked up at her, his expression at once open and clouded.</p><p>"I'm <em>sorry,"</em> he breathed.</p><p>Hermione stared at him in surprise. "Don't be; it isn't your fault," she said softly, though she felt some indescribable, heavy emotion shift inside her the moment he'd said it, as though something about his apology was <em>curative,</em> somehow, given she'd received the scar in the home of his Universe A counterpart at the hand of his close relative. But he couldn't have known that.</p><p>She shook her head, gripping her wand tightly before she set it down.</p><p>"That isn't why I… My point is, we all have scars, even if some of them are harder to see. And," she added adamantly, "we aren't worth anything less because we have them, we're worth <em>more, </em>and far more than the people who gave them to us!" She gestured at his arm, and then his face and chest. "So when anyone sees yours, be proud. They're proof that you've lived through something most people can't even imagine… and that you've had the strength to <em>survive."</em></p><p>She focused back on him to see that he was still staring at her with an intensity she didn't quite understand, his eyes glistening.</p><p>He blinked rapidly and looked down.</p><p>"My… mother… used to say something like that," he said quietly.</p><p>It was the first time he had ever mentioned Narcissa, and Hermione wondered what had happened to her. She hadn't seen her on any House-Witch list, which really implied only one of two things: that she had 'escaped,' whatever that meant… or that she had died.</p><p>"She must be very wise," she said with a warm smile, dearly hoping for his sake it was the former.</p><p>Draco looked back at her. When he smiled faintly, she was glad to see his expression had finally regained a tiny spark of the vivacity she had come to admire, though his eyes held regret. Sadness filled her as she realized from his gaze alone that Narcissa was not alive. "She would have said the very same thing about you."</p><hr/><p>The Potions classroom had not changed in the ten years that Severus Snape had been its master.</p><p>Lily Evans leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms, and calmly studied the man diligently working at the throne-like desk at the head of the room. She had to admit, he'd matured well — much better than she could have imagined when she was fifteen. Then again, Severus had always managed to groom himself well — it'd been more of the gangly coordination he'd been lacking then. Except for...</p><p>"Really Severus? Stubble?" she said dryly, not bothering to hide her distaste of the thoroughly unpalatable facial hair style that had been worn by every male in her life whom she had abhorred. "You're letting yourself go, I see."</p><p>He looked up. </p><p>When their eyes met, she smirked.</p><p>"Well, if you'd given me some warning you were coming, I would have shaved," he retorted, his voice holding its usual excess of snark and dearth of deference. ""Lily Evans. What brings <em>you</em> to my door?"</p><p>She straightened and sauntered into the classroom. "The same thing that always brings me to your door."</p><p>She casually ran a finger along the desks, the edge of books, noting the scattered sneezewort powder still dusting the tables. From the scent of lovage that still lingered in the air, she could tell the last class had been making a Befuddlement Potion. "Such careless little things. You really should make them clean properly, Severus; whatever would you do if the Department of Educational Safety and Health dropped by for an inspection?"</p><p>He looked confused, an expression Lily knew was purely theatrical. "I thought — Wait. Isn't that why we have House-Wizards? If you can compel Filch and his line-up of lackeys to clean my classroom earlier in the day, the room would be spotless by now."</p><p>She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then tilted her head in acknowledgement of that and deliberately strolled right past him when he stood to greet her. She sensed him following behind her as she fixed her gaze on the nondescript, ironclad door indented in the wall to the right of the classroom's head. She knew it wouldn't open, but when complex unlocking charm didn't do the job, either, she tilted her head back at him and turned slightly, tracing one blood red fingernail down the front of his starched grey shirt.</p><p>"Oh Severus. I thought we'd gotten past our trust issues."</p><p>He furrowed his brow. "Trust? Come back and talk to me about trust when you have two hundred miscreants running around your office sticking their fingers in everything. You'd have your valuables locked up faster than you can say 'trust issues' as well."</p><p>"The children of Hogwarts don't need an Impenetrable Curse to keep them out."</p><p>"Yes, but the faculty of Hogwarts do." The dark-haired man gave her a pointed look before he disassembled the curse, something only his magical signature could. He pushed open the door to reveal a familiar, murky study laden with bursting bookshelves and rows of ingredients unfit for student hands… or knowledge.</p><p>Lily immediately crossed the room to a seemingly empty corner. She sensed the wards before she saw them and moved her wand to dissipate them. Before she could, the stones in the wall shifted aside and a cauldron materialized in a small niche front of her, its contents steaming.</p><p>Severus had beat her to it.</p><p>"And here I thought you had come to see me," he lamented sarcastically from behind her.</p><p>"The completion of this potion is always my primary objective." Her lips pulled upward slightly as she looked over at him. "You're merely a… beneficial perk."</p><p>"Well, sorry to obliterate your objective, but you're here too early," he said, walking around to the other side of the pot. "If you administer it now, you and one other very important person will be sorely disappointed."</p><p>She ignored him and keenly examined the potion, noting with satisfaction its rich mahogany, chocolate-like consistency.</p><p>Red with the blood of its intended and his kin.</p><p>Already it looked light years more promising than it had five years ago.</p><p>She leaned close to the bubbling liquid, inhaling deeply. The smell of valerian and St. John's wort with just a hint of mandrake root invaded her senses.</p><p>Lily smiled.</p><p>"You're wrong. This is ready, Severus."</p><p>He shook his head and held up a tiny, glittering bottle. "Aren't you forgetting something?"</p><p>She studied the golden dust inside it — Romanian Longhorn powder. Of course she hadn't <em>forgotten</em> it; it had taken a direct visit to the Romanian President from the Sovereign himself to obtain the substantial quantity the potion had required. "I thought you already added the last of the sequence with this summer's solstice."</p><p>He shook his head. "The last was at the autumnal equinox. It'll reach maturity after the winter solstice."</p><p>Lily frowned. Her Potions marks had been as high if not higher than his clear through Seventh Year; she didn't care how painstaking and elaborate this recipe was or how much more skill Severus may have gained as full-time Potions Master, she trusted her instincts. "It <em>reeks</em> of maturity, Severus. The mandrake's on the verge of bitterness. If it matures any more, it'll be as aged as the Sovereign."</p><p>"Which means <em>the Sovereign</em> can't afford to wait another five years in the very likely case I'm right." He lowered a gaze on her that was actually serious, which underscored his view of the importance of what he was telling her. "The mandrake's bitter because it isn't the last dose this potion will receive. It needs another three months, Lily."</p><p>She surveyed him coolly, looking for any indication he was lying. Not that he ever had, but it always paid to be cautious… doing so often led to the discovery of the most interesting things. "And you're absolutely certain we'll have no… incidents, this time?"</p><p>Severus lounged back against the bookcase. "I managed to correct all seventeen blunders your idiots in the Mystery department made the last time around, so yes, I'd say so."</p><p>"Well then. I suppose we'll just have to wait a little longer." She moved to sit on edge of the study's desk, sliding back onto it in one easy motion. Once she'd become comfortable, she studied him closely. "Tell me something. Has my adopted daughter been… off lately?"</p><p>He tilted his head at her. "You mean, has she stopped<em> whining?</em> That would be a resounding no."</p><p>Lily frowned thoughtfully, and slowly shook her head. "No, not that. This is different. I get the feeling she's holding something back from me."</p><p>He shrugged. "She's a teenager; in case you haven't noticed already, that's what they do."</p><p>"I don't like it. She's lucky I agreed to adopt her in the first place; she should be grateful, the superficial wretch. Instead, she continues to press my buttons." Lily paused, then examined him carefully one last time. "You're sure."</p><p>"Well, let me think…" Severus looked up at the ceiling with his typical dramatics, then rolled his head back at her. <em>"Yeah," </em>he said emphatically.</p><p>Lily nodded.</p><p>She would be the judge of that.</p><p>She didn't mistrust him, necessarily — she'd known him longer than she had almost anyone else; she could read him like a book — but he occasionally tended to miss observations that she never had.</p><p>Gathering her magical reserves, she looked into his eyes and channelled her intent directly into his dark gaze.</p><p>Memories of every one of his most recent encounters with Hermione Granger Evans flashed before her.</p><p>
  <em>My cowering behind a statue while Ginevra Weasley attacked her, until Severus stepped in and sent them both on their way.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My parading around the Great Hall wearing next to nothing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My doing poorly on every Remedial Potions assignment.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My's cauldron exploding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My rolling her eyes and looking like the spoiled brat she unequivocally was.</em>
</p><p>After Lily was satisfied, she withdrew from his mind. She knew Severus wouldn't be especially pleased she'd used Legilimency on him even though it certainly hadn't been the first time, and the sour expression he gave her confirmed that. "Oh Evans. I thought we'd gotten past our trust issues."</p><p>She was surprised it'd taken him this long to throw her earlier comment back at her - he'd always been quick of wit and sharp of tongue. A tempered smile stretched across her face. "Nothing against you, Severus darling. I wouldn't trust a flea." She slid off the desk. "I suppose she <em>is</em> just being difficult," she said, twisting the last words deprecatingly. She pulled out her phone. "Along those lines, I'd be interested in your thoughts on something."</p><p>"You were just in my head. You mean you didn't look at them then?"</p><p>Lily gave him a withering look. "Aren't you just <em>precious."</em> She tapped her phone's screen, scrolling through it until she found what she was looking for. Using her wand and a murmured incantation the Department of Technological Integration had invented only a year earlier, she drew a small stream of light from the phone's face and flung it in front of them.</p><p>Like a three-dimensional theatre screen, a life-sized version of My's plush bedroom materialized in front of them, the lighted images brighter than the dusty shadows of the study. My and Lily herself stood frozen in place near My's door. "Arthur Weasley's been lurking outside my chambers for the past twenty-four hours yowling like a kicked kneazle," she said, curling her lip in irritation. "The bloody <em>imbecile's</em> getting on my nerves. I paid My a little visit this morning just so I could get him out of my hair."</p><p>He cocked his head at her, mock concern and surprise in his expression. "Has little My been a bad girl?"</p><p>"Don't be coy, Severus; I'm certain you know she has. It turns out Arthur wasn't telling me the whole story, which obviously isn't a surprise. I can't say I disapprove of her reasons for what she did, if not her actions." Her lip quirked slightly to the right. "Quite honestly? I couldn't be more pleased the Malfoy spawn has come under my family's ownership, for free, no less. The timing couldn't be better, not with this potion coming into maturity." She chuckled. "No wonder Arthur's having fits; it's a wonder he didn't come here and try to take off My's head himself."</p><p>Severus' lip curled. "Probably because his idiot of a son's still madly in <em>lust</em> with her, I can see it every time he looks in her direction. Disgusting." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Though it must mean your daughter's an absolute <em>Veela</em> in b—"</p><p>"Yes, thank you, that's more than enough, Severus," Lily said, scowling. She gestured toward the filmy images in front of them. "I placed a surveillance unit in her room as I was leaving."</p><p>He arched an eyebrow. "Stalking. That'll win you parent points."</p><p>"Quiet. Watch the feed." She waved her wand, watching impatiently as her recorded likeness turned and spoke to her son, then disappeared from view. "Now."</p><p>The girl dramatically flung herself down on the bed, stretching her arms above her head. Then she sat up, glaring fiercely at some point above the WizardCam that was embedded in the bug.<em> " 'Put a shirt on, My,' "</em> she said mockingly in what Lily considered a very poor imitation of her voice. She proceeded to throw a monumental fit— and any object within grabbing distance in the direction of the camera.</p><p>Suddenly, something round and golden — Lily knew it was that bloody elephant for which My had insisted on paying a ridiculous sum during their trip to India — hurled directly at them.</p><p>The view of My's bedroom vanished abruptly, leaving them staring at the cluttered Potions study.</p><p>As soon as it cut, she heard Severus let out a long whistle. She looked over at her old friend expectantly. Severus had sat down at his desk, his gaze impressed as he continued to peer in the general direction the feed had been playing.</p><p>She arched an eyebrow. "Well?"</p><p>"Girl's got an arm on her. Why aren't you showing this to the Quidditch team? I hear Gryffindor could use some decent players these days."</p><p>Lily pursed her lips. "Can you be serious for at least one minute? I'm not amused, Severus, not with this. Now, I happened to be sitting right there, which could explain why she chose to throw things in that direction. But she also managed to destroy the surveillance unit immediately. Coincidence?"</p><p>He frowned, but his drollery seemed to have become appropriately subdued. "Remind me <em>why</em> you decided to bug her room in the first place?"</p><p>She sighed. "I saw a little of myself in her today." She smiled at him briefly. "Cause for concern, obviously."</p><p>Yes, when My's parents had met their unfortunate end, she had seemed like a promising, Muggle-born addition to the Evans name, but Lily had been somewhat disappointed with her performance since - a little <em>too</em> narcissistic, a little <em>less</em> concerned with learning the necessary magic she would need for the titles the girl had automatically assumed would be hers.</p><p>But it seemed My might grow into her potential yet… for better or worse.</p><p>Lily refocused on Severus to find him studying her thoughtfully, his hands folded contemplatively. "And you think — what? She's misleading you?"</p><p>"Perhaps. She may not be anywhere near as magically gifted or as intelligent as I am, but she's certainly as ambitious and has a growing propensity to be just as ruthless," Lily replied evenly. "It never hurts to keep an eye on that."</p><p>"You think <em>My Granger </em>has the intelligence to mislead you," he repeated.</p><p>Lily didn't care how ludicrous the idea sounded, especially when he said it like that; she knew what she'd felt. "She pulled the wool over Weasley's eyes."</p><p>He rolled his eyes. "First, you need to consider Weasley's own intelligence level, which is abysmally low, and second, she did it by <em>sleeping</em> with him, which, last I checked, doesn't require the highest degree of intellectual aptitude." He leaned toward her. "Lily, she's a nineteen year old, pampered beauty queen. She likes to get things her way, she doesn't like being ordered around, and considering she's an Elite, she has every right to that attitude. My unprofessional diagnosis? You have a severe case of paranoia. <em>My Granger</em> will never be able to usurp you."</p><p>She couldn't quite keep the frown from her face. "That's certainly the least of my concerns. You know how much I dislike ignoring an instinct."</p><p>Severus waved his hand nonchalantly, standing. "If it'll make you sleep better at night, I'll keep an eye on her. See if she isn't up to her usual tricks."</p><p>Lily considered his offer for several seconds before she nodded. She would accept that. "Do." She pocketed her phone. "I'll be back to administer the finished potion in three months. I'll expect an update then."</p><p>He stepped closer, so he was only inches from her. "Lily. You mean I have to go a whole <em>three months?"</em></p><p>She smirked slightly. "Perhaps sooner. If you're good." She reached up and slowly began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, starting at the collar. "Just so you know, his Sovereignty has waited ten years for this. Five years since the last attempt. He would… not be pleased if it fails again." She paused and glanced up at him coyly. "And this time, the only person around to take the blame will be <em>you."</em></p><p>"Is that a threat I hear?" he asked in a low voice.</p><p>"Warning, Severus. Warning." Lily innocently smiled up at him, playing with his collar. "You're my oldest friend. I'm simply looking out for your well being."</p><p>He brushed her hair aside, lowering his head until the end of his hair tickled her neck and his lips were directly beside her ear. "I can think of a number of other ways you can look out for my well being," he breathed.</p><p>The right side of her lip quirked upward slightly, and she leaned in to his breath. "Such as…?"</p><p>She wasn't surprised when his lips pressed against the sensitive intersection of neck and jaw, caressing her skin demandingly. For a moment, she scowled darkly at the sensation of a stubby beard sliding roughly across her skin, but then she arched her neck into the kiss and shifted so her lips could hungrily meet his. She would tolerate the facial hair. </p><p>For now. </p><p>Wrapping his arms around her waist, Severus hauled her against him. As he trailed sensual kisses down her neck, Lily gasped and turned her head away, trying to keep from smiling.</p><p>Severus had always been so <em>easy.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What did you all think of Universe B Lily?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Dickens and Debacles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Between classes (countless of which she'd already missed), obligatory social duties, and protection spell casting, it was nearly evening two days later by the time Hermione had a chance to sit down and truly examine the crushed "ladybug."</p><p>Luckily, she now had a wealth of information living nearby named Draco. Through him she learned that the Sovereignty had been using surveillance devices for the past decade or more… and that getting past them undetected had been one of the primary challenges the conservative resistance had faced during the Second Intervention.</p><p>"I can always use Harry's Invisibility Cloak so they don't <em>see</em> me, but I still can't do any sort of magic around them, the need for which is of course the main reason anyone would cross paths with them in the first place," she was musing aloud while sitting beside him on her bedroom's sofa, leaning forward as she carefully regarded the destroyed piece of technology. "I suppose I could cast an Anti-Detection Jinx, but that seems too easy. The spell tracers would no doubt perceive it before it took effect, and if there was more than one camera, it wouldn't work at all."</p><p>"There is one way." Draco sat up. Pansy must have convinced Harry to lend him more clothing, because he was wearing different slacks and a jumper that thank Merlin was blue instead of red. "We began to use it several months into the… Second - <em>Intervention.</em> Or... whatever patronising rubbish they've labelled it. You have to cast an Impressions Charm. It's Undetectable, so it won't register on any sensors, even if there's others around."</p><p>"'Undetectable' magic?" Hermione frowned. "I've never heard of that."</p><p>"You wouldn't have; Riddle invented it. Took him ages; I think he worked out most of it while he was imprisoned. It's a variant of the Fidelius Charm and Unplottable traces. The incantation's Impressionem Solitus, with a flick, right scoop and exactly four twists." He held up his hand and, as he said each direction, went through the motions with an imaginary wand.</p><p>Her brows knit together thoughtfully. "<em>'Customary Impression,'" </em>she translated.<em> "</em>So it does what, exactly? Uses the foundation of the Unplottable charm to render it invisible to sensors when it's cast and then makes whatever's within range appear like it usually has in the past rather than how it really is in the present?"</p><p>He nodded. "Exactly. So nothing's tripped, and the Phoenix has no indication what's happening in front of that particular camera is anything other than business as usual. It's invisible, so it isn't accompanied by light. You have to watch for a split second distortion in the air between you and your target so you'll know you've actually done it."</p><p>Her eyebrows raised. The Fidelius Charm was extremely complicated, as was mastering Unplottability. She had never heard of anyone using them as the foundation to create a <em>derivative </em>spell, let alone combining them for the same goal. "That's… impressive."</p><p>Draco sighed and sat back, shoving a hand through his hair. "It is, but performing that level of magic is so difficult, most people couldn't. To this day, I'm surprised I was able to pick it up back then. And the few of us who could do it always had to be present whenever anyone — whole families, villages, even — needed to move through an observed area. The last I knew, Riddle was working on a more accessible alchemical solution, but I don't know if he completed it before…"</p><p>He trailed off, and Hermione knew he meant the ambiguous "Final Suppression" that he and Pansy would occasionally mention vaguely before shutting down completely.</p><p>"If a few of you knew about it, wouldn't the Sovereignty have discovered that information once...?" She didn't elaborate, but her meaning was clear.</p><p>He shook his head. "Again, Evans — the son, not the… mother — or someone else must have Ordered me not to say anything, right after the… procedure. I found there were several secrets I didn't have to reveal upon Orders. I don't know if the same was done for any of the others who knew about it, but from what I've overheard, I'm fairly certain the Phoenix still doesn't know exactly how we did it."</p><p>Hermione let out a breath, again repeating the spell and its motions in her mind. Despite his modesty, if Draco had been one of the few who could complete it, he must have been a very talented wizard, though from his intelligence alone, that didn't surprise her at all. She'd have to begin to practise it immediately… though 'practising' here meant she'd have to get it right the first time or face extremely dire consequences.</p><p>She fidgeted, contemplating the idea that <em>Tom Riddle s</em>eemed to be an almost Dumbledore-esque character in Universe B.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>The idea of it was utterly inconceivable to her; the Dark Arts had so twisted Lord Voldemort's personality and appearance that she couldn't even begin to imagine a wholesome version of him.</p><p>"What was he <em>like?" </em>she burst out.</p><p>Draco glanced at her. "Riddle?"</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>He looked forward again, his eyes ruminative. "He's a… very determined man," he said slowly. "Brilliant, obviously. But mostly determined. Not too unlike your Voldemort in that respect, I suppose, though he used it for good here rather than ill."</p><p>Hermione tried to picture Voldemort running through the streets leading innocent families to safety, blowing out spy cameras and casting protection charms as he did.</p><p>In her mind's eye, he was barefoot, bald-headed, cradled a babe in one arm and wore a flowing white robe.</p><p>Fail, her attempt to form a realistic image did.</p><p>"I see your collection of bedside accessories has managed to… recover," Draco commented suddenly.</p><p>Hermione followed his mischievous gaze to her repaired lamp, and various other objects she'd thrown at the Sovereignty bug. She frowned suspiciously. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?"</p><p>His thin face wore the expression of utmost innocence. "Not at all. Simply making an impartial observation." But then the obvious amusement in his tone stretched into a small smirk. "Though I will admit your method of deactivation was… rather interesting."</p><p>She bristled and glared at him. "How else was I supposed to stop the bloody thing without magic? I'd like to see how you'd react when a flea-sized inanimate object with a camera in it watching you<em> comes alive</em> and starts running!"</p><p>Draco didn't look the least bit sympathetic. "Well, I hadn't the slightest idea of what was happening over there, and I wasn't about to get up to see. All I knew was that you were screaming about not wearing clothing at what I was fairly <em>certain</em> was an empty room, and things had started shattering at an alarming rate. It was terrifying. For a second, I really thought you'd lost it. Gone completely batty. Barking mad. Off your rocker insane."</p><p>Hermione crossed her arms and continued to glare at him, even though she reckoned it all was just a <em>bit</em> amusing in retrospect. "Stop it; it wasn't<em> that</em> bad."</p><p>"Oh, it certainly was. I thought surely any moment you were going to dash out of the room and into the Forbidden Forest Bilbo Baggins style, never to be seen again." His grey eyes were distant, as if he were currently reliving it. He shuddered. "Merlin, it was frightening."</p><p>Hermione burst out laughing.</p><p>Her ploy sounded so absurd when he described it like that, even though she knew he was teasing her, but it must have worked, or Lily would have certainly returned by now to reset the bug, at the very least. When she finally caught her breath, she looked over at him, still smiling, her brow furrowed in amazement. "Did you just reference a <em>Muggle</em> author?"</p><p>"Do try not to sound quite so shocked," he said dryly. "We Old-Bloods aren't opposed to <em>all</em> things Muggle."</p><p>His comment piqued her interest — she'd been curious about the line between conservatism and anti-Muggle sentiments here. "Aren't you?" she asked, intrigued.</p><p>Draco shook his head. "Certainly not. I actually rather think Muggles are quite ingenious, to have come up with everything they have without magic. It's the use of the Dark Arts for Muggle-based technology that many of us have opposed." At her slightly astonished expression - mostly at his easy response - he gave her a small smile. "Bit of a stunner, I know. The me in your world would have never spoken such words, surely."</p><p>That certainly was an understatement.</p><p>"So you… like Muggles," Hermione said slowly, trying to determine exactly what his position was.</p><p>He shrugged and sat back contemplatively. "I suppose the better phrasing would be to say I don't <em>dis</em>like them, as a general whole," he said thoughtfully. "I haven't had the opportunity to get to know many of them particularly well, to be honest. But I enjoyed Muggle Studies, for the most part. The literature was excellent. Tolkien in particular I thought was brilliant, but there were others, of course. Shakespeare, Melville, Austen, Brontë… And Twain. Merlin, I love that man's wit." He feigned seriousness, and an American Southern drawl. " 'It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.'"</p><p>Hermione snorted at his impression and held back a laugh. "Someone'd better tell Ronáld."</p><p>He grimaced. "I may already have."</p><p>They both laughed, but the smile in his eyes had disappeared, something heavy settling into his expression. Hermione immediately regretted even mentioning this world's monstrous substitute for her once-best friend.</p><p>"Have you read Dickens?" she asked quickly, changing the subject.</p><p>Draco looked toward her briefly, and after a moment he grinned again. "Could I rightly call myself English if I hadn't? Of course I have."</p><p>"Which?"</p><p><em>"David Copperfield.</em> My first Muggle novel, actually. Still one of my favorites." He glanced at her questioningly. "Which was yours?"</p><p><em>"A Christmas Carol."</em> Before he could speak, she lifted a hand. "Don't judge me; it's so cliché, I know. Every year, my family would read it during the holidays. We'd bake cookies, play holiday music. My father would use different voices. Merlin, his Marley impersonation was…" She trailed off, shaking her head, a fond smile stretched across her face, though she couldn't help but sigh a bit sadly. "It was our tradition."</p><p>He looked down, fiddling with the sofa pillow's lining. "My mum and I would do something similar," he said after a moment. "With <em>Thaddeus and the Christmas Dragons.</em> It was a wizarding story, though. Quite old."</p><p>Hermione brightened. "Oh, I've read that."</p><p>He seemed to brighten, too. "Have you?" he asked, sounding surprised.</p><p>She nodded. "It was written by Gemula Blishwick, wasn't it?"</p><p>Draco smiled at her and nodded as well. "The very one."</p><p>Hermione couldn't help but smile back. She hadn't had intellectual discussions like this with anyone else here since she'd arrived, let alone had many while she'd been fighting Voldemort with Harry and Ron. Rare was the day she could share her enjoyment of books and knowledge with someone who appreciated them just as much.</p><p>With a shock of electricity akin to a lightning strike… Hermione realized that she was <em>having fun. </em>No, even worse, she'd been <em>thoroughly enjoying</em> herself with a volume of laughter that seemed both foreign and alarming.</p><p>Nausea and something else ripped through her stomach.</p><p>Abruptly, she looked away from Draco.</p><p>She wasn't <em>supposed</em> to enjoy being around him, or anyone here. There was nothing about this universe Hermione wanted to enjoy. If she allowed herself that, she was afraid it would mean she was admitting defeat, giving up hope that she'd ever return home, accepting that<em> this </em>awful place was enough for her. Conversely, to <em>not</em> enjoy herself would make her eventual departure from this dark, unwelcome world — and she was going to find a way to get home, she was determined of it — that much easier.</p><p>Even so, until that day came, she didn't... she didn't want these conversations with Draco to end, either.</p><p>How thoughtless, how selfish, how horrible of a person did that make her?</p><p>After a moment, Hermione took a breath and looked back at him. The smile had faded from the Slytherin's face as he watched her, and though his expression was neutral, she thought she saw worry in his eyes.</p><p>Guilt crept into her stomach. Heaven<em> forbid</em> he ever guess what was on her mind. She felt like she was betraying their friendship, somehow, by having such thoughts, but she pushed the feeling away before she could dwell on it. Instead, she smiled at him again and reached out, touching a strand of his long hair as she recalled a thought she'd had the day before.</p><p>"Would you like this cut?" she asked, changing the subject.</p><p>He blinked, then reached up and took a lock of it as well. "What? I thought this was in style." He pulled it away from his face, peering at it. "The surfer look."</p><p>"Grunge is more like it," she muttered.</p><p>Draco gave her an affronted look and sat up straight, puffing out his chest indignantly. "Perhaps I'd rather keep my grungy surfer hair."</p><p>"Would you really?" Hermione asked seriously. She certainly didn't want to make him do something he didn't, or feel as though he had to.</p><p>After a second of glaring at her, he slumped and looked down, sighing. "No. If you're offering, I'd actually quite like it gone."</p><p>She nodded decisively, then stood. "Alright. Get up then. Come on."</p><p>Draco jerked his head up in his haste to look at her. "What? Right here?"</p><p>"Of course right here," she said, wondering where else he would have expected to have it done. She walked across her room to her desk chair, pulled it out and patted it. When he didn't move, she gave him an exasperated expression. "It'll only take a minute."</p><p>He slowly got up and approached her warily. "I'd really rather it took <em>more</em> than a minute, as it were."</p><p>"Oh, don't look at me like that. I used to do this for Harry and Ron all the time."</p><p>"I'm fairly certain that's an exaggeration."</p><p>"At least four times each," she defended as he cautiously sat down. "Do you have any preferences?"</p><p>Draco hesitated. "I'd rather you kept the left side a bit… longer," he said slowly.</p><p>She nodded in understanding, quickly realizing he wanted to have the ability to hide Ronáld's macabre handiwork if he wanted. She stood off to his side, tilting her head and assessing his hair. It was fine, unlike Ron and Harry's positive manes, but the same couple of barber spells she'd taught herself on the road should still do the trick.</p><p>Shifting in front of him, she crouched down and studied his face critically, determining exactly how she wanted the end result to look. As much as she'd disliked the Draco Malfoy of Universe A, she couldn't deny that both Universes' versions of him had been gifted with an elegant, well-structured countenance. Oh yes, she'd been perfectly aware that plenty of girls had found him attractive in her universe; his personality had been so lacking that Hermione had certainly never been among them, and she'd always rolled her eyes and shook her head.</p><p>But now...</p><p>With a bit of a jolt, she abruptly realized that in this Universe, any non-bigoted witches -- perhaps when things had been a bit more normal, before the "Intervention" -- surely must have found <em>this</em> Draco attractive as well, with his ready smile and wit and charm. Hermione blinked momentarily, her lips parting and stomach turning over slightly at this idea. Why it gave her such pause, she didn't know, and after a moment she again shook her head, this time to bring herself back to the task at hand.</p><p>Universe A Draco's hairstyles, she thought, had usually been too severe for his long face; the few times that errant spells or circumstances had set it a mess from its typical slickness had actually suited him better (not that she'd considered it at the time). If her- no, if <em>Universe B</em> Draco wanted a medium length style, no doubt it would become him, particularly if she added some layers and used a texturizing spell to taper the base of it to his neck so it wasn't a blunt-end cut-</p><p>Draco cleared his throat, shifting in the chair and surprisingly looking the slightest bit uncomfortable. "Is there any particular reason you haven't managed to venture past the appraisal stage yet," he said drolly, "or is my appearance really that hopeless?"</p><p>Her distracted gaze shifted to his eyes, her brow furrowing. "What?" she said in surprise. "Don't be ridiculous; of course your appearance isn't-"</p><p>She stopped herself and flushed, and then flushed deeper when she realized she'd come off as fixedly staring at him yet <em>again</em>. Profoundly thankful for the layer of My's makeup that hid her embarrassment, she shifted gears and retorted sternly, "Patience makes perfect, young Malfoy."</p><p>The uncertainty immediately dropped from his expression, replaced by the burst of an amused smile. "Is <em>that</em> how that saying goes? To think all these years, I've been doing it wrong..."</p><p>Hermione bit the corner of her lip to restrain a smile, though she was certain her eyes gave her away. "Cheeky," she commented dryly, standing and moving behind him. Taking a section of his hair between her fingers, she raised her wand--</p><p>"Not to dive into semantics, Hermione," Draco said abruptly, twisting slightly, "but I would argue that 'four times each' isn't quite the equivalent of 'all the time.' "</p><p>Following his gaze, Hermione saw he was trying to see their reflection in her dresser mirror across the room. She quickly moved to block his view. "Draco, stop<em> fidgeting."</em></p><p>In a heartbeat, he became utterly motionless.</p><p>Concern and regret jumped to her throat. "That wasn't an Order, was it?"</p><p>"No." Draco winced slightly. "But if it comes between that and losing an ear, of course I'm going to listen to you."</p><p>She snorted, thought about smacking him like she wouldn't have hesitated to do with Ron or Harry, but checked herself — after the way Draco had been treated, she didn't ever want to hit him, even if it was playfully. "You won't 'lose an ear'; <em>Merlin, </em>what kind of inept witch do you think I am…"</p><p>In spite of her words, perhaps it was because he had been denied any basic care for so long, to his appearance or otherwise, that Hermione felt a strange responsibility - a sense of trepidation, even - to get this right that she never had for the Golden Trio's maintenance haircuts. Brow furrowed in deep concentration, she murmured the first of the three spells she knew, weaving her fingers into and out of his hair as she carefully, repetitively smoothed her wand around its edges and down its length.</p><p>Platinum locks spilled to the floor around them. It took longer than it usually did for her two best friends. When she was finally satisfied, she vanished the cut hair and stepped back, assessing.</p><p>It was shocking, really, how much one's hairstyle could affect one's appearance... because in the course of five minutes, Draco looked like an entirely different person.</p><p>His blond hair no longer fell unevenly past his shoulders but instead loosely twisted appealingly around his face and ears and the topmost half of his neck. A side-parted, asymmetrical fringe spilled over his forehead and down the left length of his face to effectively cover the most visible scar on his cheek, the layered style stopping just at the edge of his mouth. The weightlessness of the comparatively shorter cut gave his hair a professional-looking buoyancy.</p><p>Hermione couldn't withhold a small, pleased smile at how well it'd turned out.</p><p>Before, Draco had strongly resembled someone who'd spent serious time in Azkaban. Now, he still needed at least a month of Mrs. Weasley's home cooking, of course, but he- he didn't look awful in the least, in her opinion. He actually looked...</p><p>She swallowed.</p><p>Well, he looked quite good.</p><p>"See?" she said, waving a hand toward the mirror he'd been trying to peer at earlier. "Your patience paid off, don't you think?" When he didn't move, she frowned. "Well? Aren't you going to look?"</p><p>Draco shifted his gaze sombrely to hers. "I'd rather not."</p><p>Hermione put her hands on her hips. "And just what do you expect to see that has you so concerned?"</p><p>"It's the thought of what I <em>won't</em> see that horrifies me. D'you think I didn't notice those piles on the ground before you got rid of them? Did you even leave anything up there?"</p><p>She glared at him. "Plenty, actually." With an unexpected burst of energy, she was struck by an unusual wave of mischievousness. "Which means you can't leave without your complementary styling."</p><p>This time, visible alarm jumped to his expression. "What—?"</p><p>Before he could voice the question, she reached out and and ruffled his hair vigorously. After several seconds of tousling, she stepped back, grinning broadly. "There. All finished."</p><p>Draco stiffly peered up at her from beneath the wildly mussed hair that now fell directly in his eyes. "Oh, I'm sure that looks <em>much</em> better, Hermione," he said sarcastically.</p><p>Hermione hid her smile. "Oh, leagues. That's your standard windblown, debonair Ministry Auror look there."</p><p>His gaze became interested. "D'you think they'd hire me?"</p><p>"Looking like that? Undoubtedly—"</p><p>The sound of a clearing throat interrupted her.</p><p>Hermione spun toward the door, and she saw Draco quickly stand beside her.</p><p>Harry was waiting outside her doorframe, his arms crossed, wearing an expression that possessed about as much personality as his mother.</p><p>She stiffened, her stomach tightening.</p><p>Her best friend's likeness raised an eyebrow. "Not interrupting something, am I?"</p><p>Oh, she <em>hated</em> the unspoken insinuation in his tone. It was the first time they'd spoken directly since the incident on Monday night. After that, Hermione had sworn she would never talk to him again. At the same time, she knew that wasn't realistic, but she'd vowed to keep their interactions to an absolute minimum, and she certainly wasn't about to let him harass her anymore.</p><p>Suddenly, fingers that did not belong to her -- Draco's -- gently brushed her wrist. The sensation jarred her into action, and she straightened and regarded Harry coldly. "What do you want?"</p><p>"We need to talk." Harry's gaze shifted to her right, toward Draco. "In private."</p><p>Hermione wasn't about to fall for that another time; she knew very well how all their 'private' conversations had always ended. "I'd say we're all in this together," she said flatly. "Anything you need to say to me, you can say to him."</p><p>Harry took a step into the room, his hard gaze unreadable. "In <em>private."</em></p><p>Hermione bristled and stepped forward, disinclined but prepared to do battle...</p><p>But then Draco said, "It's alright. I'll go."</p><p>She looked back at him. No. Why should he leave? It wasn't that she didn't think she could handle Harry alone — she <em>could </em>— but what could Harry possibly have to say to her that Draco couldn't hear?</p><p>"You don't have to listen to him," she said in a low voice.</p><p>Draco's eyes met hers and softened. "I know." He glanced down. Hermione followed his gaze to see his fingers were still very close to her wrist. For some reason that she didn't particularly like, her heart gave a little lurch, and she looked back up him quickly as he intently searched her eyes. "Do you need..."</p><p>He stopped mid-sentence, his brow knitting, as if he were reconsidering his words. Then he instead nodded slightly, as if coming to an agreement with himself, and pulled his hand away, giving her a small, reassuring smile. "I'll be back in a bit."</p><p>The room felt colder once he'd left it, partially closing the door behind him as he did.</p><p>Hermione looked back toward Harry apathetically. She was tired of arguing and of feeling belittled and mistrusted from someone with the likeness of a man she'd held dear. This time, she wasn't going to get emotional. She wasn't going to get angry, or sad. He didn't deserve her energy.</p><p>Not this Harry.</p><p>Not anymore.</p><p>For as terrible as Monday night had been for her, it had also helped her see all too clearly, once and for all, that this man was not her best friend anymore, and hoping he would turn into him would never make it so. And she didn't feel desperate to win his friendship, either; she'd managed to make a few other legitimate friends here who actually wanted that title.</p><p>So she just waited.</p><p>The seconds passed.</p><p>Harry Evans seemed to be waiting, too, but Hermione couldn't care less, even as the silence became deafening. When it must have become quite clear she wasn't going to say anything, he took another step closer. "Malfoy needs a permanent supply of sleeping draughts. He'll wake up the entire east side of the building at the rate he's at now."</p><p>Hermione kept her expression neutral, though his words at once surprised and concerned her. Draco still looked extremely tired, yes, but he'd never given her any indication that he wasn't sleeping well. Then again, she supposed it wasn't a great shock that he wouldn't be, not with the atrocious things he'd lived through… but he'd usually always been upfront if he'd needed something.</p><p>She berated herself for not having noticed it or asked herself, so much so that <em>Harry Evans</em> had actually come to her about it first.</p><p>She nodded curtly. "Fine," she said tonelessly.</p><p>Harry didn't back down from her emotionless gaze, and another extended silence ensued. Hermione wracked her brain as to what he could have possibly wanted from her. Why did he keep staring at her, like — like he was evaluating her, not necessarily like she was prey, as he certainly had in the past, but like she was some foreign species of leaping toadstool?</p><p>She was about to tell him she had better things to do than have a stare-off with him when he said slowly, "We also have a problem."</p><p>
  <em>Oh, of course.</em>
</p><p>Now the truth came out: he wasn't there out of the kindness of his heart for Draco, or for anyone else, for that matter.</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes and turned away from him and walked over to her desk, pulling out her next Potions assignment. "Go take it up with someone who isn't going to <em>betray</em> you," she said bitterly.</p><p>She took a quill in her hand to make notes, gripping it so hard she was afraid she might crush it, but she could only stare at the first word on the scroll, waiting for him to leave.</p><p>He didn't.</p><p>"I may have been a bit… unfair," he finally said, sounding as though he was speaking through gritted teeth.</p><p>Every pent-up emotion Hermione had been trying to bury exploded through her mind.</p><p>
  <em>Was. He. Serious?</em>
</p><p>She threw down the quill and spun angrily back toward him. "Oh, now you're going to be civil? When you want something from me?" she exclaimed. "Well, I don't care, because I'm through with your insults and your put-downs and your unfounded animosity! Perhaps you're used to people jumping whenever you bark out commands, but I don't help people who treat me like rubbish and can't even apologize after they do!" She swung her wand at the door, and it flung open with a bang. "So you can take your <em>problem </em>and leave."</p><p>Harry didn't even look toward the door. True to character, he virtually stepped into her wrath, his gaze piercing. "Do you think I go around blindly hating everyone for the fun of it? Because I fancy living that way?" he snarled. "I have <em>reasons</em> for distrusting people, very good reasons, and up until quite recently, you were no exception to that!"</p><p>Her eyebrows raised. "Oh, and you're saying I'm an exception now? Excuse me if I find that a bit difficult to swallow."</p><p>His green eyes were angry - that was no surprise. But she <em>was</em> surprised when he looked away from her and took a visible, deep breath, his hands clenched into fists.</p><p>"Look," he said tightly, "I understand what the person who looked and sounded like me in your world was to you. But you can't expect that from me. I'm not him. I can never <em>be</em> him—"</p><p>"Believe me, I'm well aware of that," she spat. "That doesn't mean you can't afford me the same level of respect you would any other ally! For Merlin's sake, things here are hard enough as it is! Why would you ever bring more suffering on anyone who's working <em>with</em> you toward the same goal?"</p><p>He looked back at her then, and something flickered in his eyes that she'd never seen in Harry Evans' face before, though she'd seen it plenty on Harry Potter's.</p><p>Vulnerability.</p><p>"You have <em>no idea </em>what it's like to be raised in this world with a family like mine," he said in a low voice. "I didn't have the luxury of forming the kind of friendships you did. You all gushed about <em>loyalty</em> and <em>bravery</em> and<em> honor</em> like it's a sodding walk in the park." She wondered who 'you all' were and assumed he must have heard something similar from Pansy and Draco as he continued, "I don't even know how to—"</p><p>He stopped speaking abruptly, his jaw tight.</p><p>She stared at him, unable to believe this conversation was even occurring. She couldn't help but remember quite clearly how his own mother didn't seem to care about him at all. What kind of childhood must he have had, living in that kind of environment? Where on earth was his father?</p><p>Slightly - only slightly - she felt some of her outrage and resentment lessen.</p><p>It still didn't mean Hermione would allow him to walk over her. But she didn't want to hate him, either. Not if parental neglect had led him to become the callous cad that he was.</p><p>"Be that as it may," she said quietly, "It doesn't mean you can never learn."</p><p>Harry reached down to grip the back of the chair Draco'd been sitting on, staring hard at the seat.</p><p>"There are some things you need to know about me, Granger," he said stiffly, sounding as though he was forcing every word from his mouth. "I'm blunt. I'm judgemental. I'm <em>not</em> self-sacrificing. I have a temper and I lose it often, I — I don't bloody<em> cry, </em>and I just don't give a damn about what happens to most people because they've never given one blasted damn about me. That isn't the best basis for forming <em>friendships."</em></p><p>Hermione furrowed her brow, shaking her head. "That isn't true at all. Friendship isn't about who <em>you</em> are; it's about how you treat others. I see you with Pansy; you're perfectly capable of it. You just have to want to."</p><p>He continued looking down for a long time, his knuckles tight around the chair's wooden frame. Then he looked back at her sharply, a gleam of warning in his eyes. "Don't ever hug me, or hold my hand, or treat me like you would him."</p><p>"Don't ever harass me like you continually have since you've discovered the truth," she retorted, wondering if these were to be the conditions of whatever partnership or alliance they were suddenly, inexplicably about to form.</p><p>Harry clenched his jaw and nodded once, tightly.</p><p>Hermione nodded too, even if she did so warily. She still couldn't say she trusted him, and only time would tell if he would stay true to his word. But she welcomed the prospect of a ceasefire, especially when she suddenly had the looming problem of handling the formidable threat of Lily Evans.</p><p>They continued to stand, staring cautiously at each other, as if neither was certain of how to next proceed.</p><p>She cleared her throat. "Is that everything, then?"</p><p>He shook his head, turning the chair around and sitting down on it. "As you may recall, we have a problem."</p><p>Hermione suddenly felt very, very tired, though this time for a different reason completely. "What sort of problem?"</p><p>Harry paused, as if he was reframing his thoughts. "They've completed a potion to remove Lucius Malfoy's amnesia," he said after a moment. "It's going to work. And when it does, the conservatives will lose a piece of information so crucial the Sovereign himself has been obsessed with obtaining it for a decade."</p><p>Oh Merlin.</p><p>Lucius Malfoy.</p><p>Hermione's stomach turned over completely at the realization that she hadn't breathed a word about his father's state of existence to Draco — partially because her encounters with Draco had until this point been so tense, madcapped or intense that she'd truly forgotten, partially because she didn't think the knowledge that his father was alive but held in inescapable captivity with no memory of Draco whatsoever would bring him anything more than additional frustration and pain… and partially because she'd honestly hoped she'd be gone from this Universe before the issue came up again.</p><p>She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the guilt gnawing at her insides. "How do you know this?"</p><p>The expression he flung her screamed serious doubts of her intelligence. "I'm the son of the Viceroy, Granger. Obviously I have more access than anyone else."</p><p><em>That</em> response was appropriately vague enough to destroy any willingness to act on her part, but even an unacceptable lack of information wasn't the most pressing issue to Hermione.</p><p>"Why is this <em>my</em> problem?" she snapped waspishly, the question departing her mouth before she could stop it.</p><p>For as self-serving and nasty as it was, she realized: She <em>meant</em> it.</p><p>Yes, it pained her to her very core every time she'd seen Draco sadistically abused, or Pansy's hopeful eyes, or the House-Wizards that were so monstrously treated around the castle and in her bestial Dark Arts classes. But if Tom bloody Riddle, in all his brilliance, hadn't been able to stop the Sovereignty with the full conservative population behind him, then how on Merlin's green earth was <em>she </em>going to make any kind of difference before she met the same awful fate as everyone else?</p><p>If anything, the problem seemed more dire and irreversible now than it had ever been, since virtually all possible allies had been rendered powerless House-Wizards and Tom Riddle was either dead, imprisoned, or irrevocably 'missing.'</p><p>No, as much as she detested even thinking it, there was nothing Hermione - as a lone individual acting against the might of the entire Sovereignty - could do here. What <em>was</em> in her power was focusing on trying to get back to Universe A before she encountered Lily Evans again, and everything she'd been trying to hide blew up in her face.</p><p>She grew in her resolution as she met Harry's disbelieving gaze. "Well?" she asked.</p><p>"It's in your blasted nature, isn't it?" he demanded. "Fighting evil? Defending the downtrodden?" He sat up straight, glaring at her. "Are you going to just sit here and do nothing when you have the ability to do otherwise?"</p><p>His comment struck deeper than she cared to admit... mostly because what he said <em>wasn't untrue.</em></p><p>She gritted her teeth, glowering back at him, trying to disregard the sick feeling blossoming in her stomach. "Do nothing? I rather think I've done more than that!" she exclaimed in equal disbelief. "And in my universe, we didn't have a choice — it was either fight back or annihilation!"</p><p>His eyebrows flew up. "Do you think it's any different here for people like Pansy and Malfoy? You're just lucky you landed yourself in the body of an Elite, or you'd already be bloody annihilated! What else do you call how they're existing now? Certainly not living!"</p><p>That<em> Harry Evans </em>was lecturing her on morality and right action and making an irrefutably good case of it was not something Hermione wanted to consider, and she certainly wasn't willing to discuss it with him any further… because she wouldn't win.</p><p>She <em>knew</em> she was going against everything in which she had ever believed — the causes she championed, the rights she defended.</p><p>But what could she do when they simply <em>didn't stand a chance?</em></p><p>"And what do you propose we do?" she bit out, simply so she could emphasise the insanity of whatever plan he might be thinking of proposing. "Waltz in and break him out? The most valuable prisoner of war the Sovereignty apparently has? I don't think it'll be quite that simple, do you?"</p><p>When Harry continued to evenly stare at her without further response -- a response in and of itself -- she shoved herself off the edge of her desk, straightening. "Absolutely not! Are you out of your mind mad? Your <em>mother</em> would use Draco as leverage to get him back in an instant, and I — I —" She shook her head, unwilling to even imagine that possibility - "I absolutely refuse to allow that to happen!"</p><p>He leaned toward her, his voice low. "The secret Lucius Malfoy knows could be the key to changing everything. To saving every conservative left alive. If one life needs to be sacrificed to obtain it, then so be it."</p><p>Hermione's mouth opened and closed before she stared at him in repugnance. "No. I won't do it." She eyed him hawkishly. "And what're you saying — that there's actually a chance to change<em> this?"</em> She gestured around her with both arms. "Because this dictatorship certainly seems insurmountable to me!"</p><p>"I don't know!" he snapped. "But if the Sovereign wants this information this badly, and gets it, one <em>can</em> but assume that any chance these poor wretches have, no matter how minuscule, will be completely gone." His jaw set, and he looked away from her. "As will be the happiness of the people who care about them."</p><p>Hermione knew he was right. She knew the information Lucius Malfoy held must have been, at the very least, a clue toward cementing Dumbledore's power or destroying it. Dumbledore was clearly as brilliant here as he had been in her universe; there was no way he'd so doggedly seek it otherwise.</p><p>Torn in a thousand directions, between her mind and her heart and logic and emotion and bloody <em>common sense,</em> she squeezed her eyes shut.</p><p>The image of Draco's expression when he mentioned his deceased and clearly beloved mother instantly appeared. When he thought Pansy had been dead and discovered she wasn't.</p><p>He still believed <em>his father</em> had been dead since he was five.</p><p>Swiftly, Hermione opened her eyes and shook the image from her mind, feeling physically ill. Why did <em>she</em> have to get embroiled smack in the middle of what could potentially be another war with a far more powerful Dark Lord than even Voldemort had been? Winning Draco in a somewhat insulting bet was one thing - and look where it got her, the wrath of Lily Evans, who would probably kill them all without a second thought if she suspected anything in the slightest.</p><p>But <em>aiding</em> the <em>escape</em> of someone in whom Dark Lord Dumbledore himself was personally invested? Bloody Morgana and all the witches… They would be caught. They would be tortured. They would be killed.</p><p>And she would never, ever find a way to return home to her family and to everyone she loved.</p><p>"No." Hermione took her head, taking a step back from Harry and running into her desk; her ink bottle crashed noisily to the floor, but she didn't give it a second glance. "No, no, no. You judged <em>me</em> for my scheme to save Draco? The very thought of this is ten thousand times more lunatic than that, Harry! How are you proposing this? You! The uncaring, non-sacrificing Slytherin snake! I get that you care about Pansy, I do, but this goes a bit beyond that, don't you suppose? Why would you ever risk yourself for something so incredibly dangerous?"</p><p>Though Harry may not have understood her Slytherin reference, something dark flickered behind his gaze. "I have my reasons."</p><p>She crossed her arms. "And they are?"</p><p>When he didn't respond, she snorted contemptuously and threw up her hands, shaking her head. "No. I can't. I won't. I'm sorry, the lives of the people right here, including my own, are more valuable to me than whatever extremely little might be gained from trying to extricate Lucius Malfoy!"</p><p>The corner of her eye suddenly caught motion at the doorway — motion that suddenly stopped dead. Hermione tensed, looking toward the door in dread.</p><p>Draco's stunned eyes bore into hers.</p><p>Horror and bile jumped to her throat as Pansy suddenly appeared in the doorway beside him, looking breathless and worried. "Hermione, Harry, what's…?"</p><p>She looked between all of them and trailed off.</p><p>After a moment, Draco said in a very quiet, flummoxed voice, "My-- My father… <em>What?"</em></p><p>He had believed he'd been dead since he was five.</p><p>Hermione ripped her gaze from his, unable to face the bewilderment and astonishment there that she could have <em>prevented,</em> if only she'd had the nerve and the consideration to be honest with him. Instead, she and Harry had held an entire conversation about the fate of Lucius Malfoy behind his back -- and she'd incontestably stated that she'd rather leave his father to whatever awaited him.</p><p>And he'd <em>heard</em> her.</p><p>"Draco…" Pansy said slowly, hesitantly taking his hand, "Your father… He isn't... What I mean to say is, he's alive." She sounded and looked about as horrified as Hermione was. "Merlin, we should have told you before now. I'm so sorry."</p><p>Hermione felt like she might vomit. The sensation only grew worse when Draco pulled his hand away from Pansy and looked between her and Hermione, his face ashen. "You… You knew? All of you?"</p><p>The surprise and pain and betrayal in his voice stabbed her straight through the gut.</p><p>Before she quite knew what she was doing, Hermione had swept up the small bundle of the Invisibility Cloak, Mauraders' Map and Wizarding Wheezes she took with her everywhere, mumbled something about needing to go, and brushed past him and Pansy, racing down the stairs and through the common room and into the corridor, flinging the Invisibility Cloak over her shoulders. Emotions that she couldn't quite process threatened to overwhelm her, and she fought back tears. She didn't care if they thought she was a coward.</p><p>They were right.</p><p>Her first thought was to go to the library, but the nausea in her stomach the moment she had the idea directed her the opposite way; the library would only remind her of how thoroughly she had failed to find a way home… and how she had let herself be consumed by that goal to such an extent that it hurt the person in this world she cared about the most.</p><p>Harry's words echoed in her mind:</p><p>
  <em>Are you going to just sit here and do </em>
  <strong>
    <em>nothing</em>
  </strong>
  <em> when you have the ability to do otherwise?</em>
</p><p>Despite her best efforts, a tear tricked down her cheek. She viciously wiped it away.</p><p>She was a terrible person.</p><p>When had she <em>become</em> this way? The Hermione of her world would have been horrified, would have stood up for everything good and right by now, rather than continue to pretend to care but instead pursue her own separate -- and selfish -- agenda.</p><p>Her actions were so <em>My-like</em> it disgusted her.</p><p>But... why was wanting, trying to get home so awful? another part of her argued. These people couldn't expect her to stay here forever, to take on their massive problems when she'd already faced plenty of her own. Surely it couldn't be natural, couldn't be <em>right</em> that she remain in a universe that wasn't her own. No, she would be doing <em>herself</em> a great injustice if she didn't try to return.</p><p>The dilemma seemed unresolvable, even for logic. And coming up again and <em>again</em> against that insurmountable wall -- and the potential possibility that she might <em>never</em> be able to circumvent it -- made it difficult to breathe. </p><p>As soon as Hermione slipped past the Hogwarts doors and into the night, she gratefully gasped in a great gulps of cold air, the bracing blast of October wind soothing her burning face. Her mind swirled with a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts about how much to get involved, how much to change, how much to care, how much to <em>not</em> care and just focus on finding the solution that would return to her universe.</p><p>She doubted she would find clear direction on any one of them this evening. </p><p>She began walking vigorously through the grounds with no real destination in mind. After being cooped up inside the castle for what seemed like months, the fresh air and the freedom of the darkness and vast, open spaces was a great relief.</p><p>She eventually found herself approaching the lake, quite close to the huge building on the Universe B Hogwarts campus that was called the Hangar. On the ground, it was even more impressive than the outline from her window: a massive, windowless structure that did remind Hermione of a airplane hangar. A lone lantern illuminated a sizable sliding door on the opposite end of the building from a closed but much larger, garage-like entrance that must have been built to allow entry to something massive.</p><p>Hermione afforded it brief examination — mostly for signs of life — before she dropped to the ground at the lake's edge, hugging her knees to her chest and listening to the waves gently lap against the shore.</p><p>The rhythmic sound did much to soothe her pounding heart.</p><p>It did nothing to ease the guilt that wracked her.</p><p>"Wrong" didn't even begin to describe what the Sovereignty was doing, and she despised the regime and the entire society that enabled it with every bone in her body. When she had begun to help Draco and Pansy, she had hoped she might be able to juggle everything: her concern for this world with her determination to return to her own.</p><p>But after her terrifying encounter with Lily Evans, she'd realized… she just <em>couldn't.</em> The pervasive power and reach of the Sovereignty was staggering. Something was eventually going to give, someone was eventually going to sort out that she wasn't quite who she said she was, and if she focused too much on helping the conservatives here, she could very easily find herself imprisoned or dead before she ever found the way back to Universe A.</p><p>No, she had to fully commit to one pathway or the other, but she found herself unwilling to decide upon either.</p><p>If given the choice of stepping before a firing squad or escaping in the opposite direction, would anyone willingly choose the former?</p><p>Hermione buried her face in her knees, hugging them more tightly.</p><p>All she could see was the pain and betrayal on Draco's face.</p><p>What if he never <em>forgave</em> her?</p><p>Her heart ached at the thought that their friendship might very well be destroyed — a friendship that had formed much more quickly, much more naturally than even her relationships with Ron and Harry had so many years ago. <em>Why</em> hadn't she told him about his father sooner? Why hadn't anyone, for that matter?</p><p>A loud, mechanical scraping noise jerked her back into the cold night.</p><p>She jumped slightly, and quickly looked behind her to see Hagrid slowly pushing open the Hangar's sliding side door, grumbling irately under his breath. Behind him, though the inside of the Hangar was only dimly lit, Hermione could just make out what she thought were living things.</p><p>With a sickening jolt, she suddenly remembered that Ronáld had said the building was used for the Hunting and Trapping of Magical Creatures... and what he had alluded happened to the caught beasts afterward.</p><p>As the half-Giant exited the Hangar, his wheezes audible even from here, Hermione jumped to her feet, gnawing on her lip. Her feet itched, and she shifted anxiously from side to side. A hare-brained idea had crossed her mind, and her heart began to pound harder, already knowing subconsciously she was going to go through with it.</p><p>After being accused of doing nothing… Hermione was suddenly extremely driven to do the opposite.</p><p>She faced the building determinedly.</p><p>And as Hagrid drew his wand, presumably to lock the building for the night, she began to sprint.</p><p>She slipped inside the closing door a second before it rumbled shut with a slam of finality. Through the wall between them, she heard Hagrid recite an aural-targeted locking spell that would have never allowed her entrance to the building otherwise.</p><p>Hermione caught her breath and turned back to face the cavernous space.</p><p>Little did she know what she would find there would change everything.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Light 'Em Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As a warning, I consider the first section of this chapter to be the darkest of this story. So know that going in, but also know that this is the darkest it is going to get. I think.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Entering from the darkness outside, Hermione's eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light of a few scattered torches attached to the Hangar walls. Her first thought was that the interior strongly resembled the farm park outside Surrey that she and her parents would visit when she was a child: along the entire length of the building to her right was a wide aisle-way lined with closed-wall stalls. But instead of lambs and horses, piglets and goats, these immediate corrals held thestrals.</p><p>Despite the presence of so many animals, the Hangar was chillingly still.</p><p>Must, hay, animal sweat and leather permeated her senses as she cautiously moved down the stable-like walkway, fully cloaked beneath the third Deathly Hallow, silencing her steps in case they crunched against any stray feed. She was painfully aware of the surveillance camera perched near the entrance.</p><p>In her own universe, Hagrid allowed the Hogwarts thestrals to run free in a herd on a pastured area of the grounds. But in this world, white chalk, similar to that demarcating Lucius Malfoy's cell, traced around each stall. Not a single thestral snorted or even looked in her direction when she passed, though Hermione knew the animals had extraordinary senses that certainly would have allowed them to sense her despite her invisibility.</p><p>It seemed Hagrid was using the chalk wards to deliberately keep each thestral separated from the others… but why?</p><p>Hermione passed at least thirty thestrals before she came upon a very different creature.</p><p>A unicorn poked its magnificent, horned head out from the next stall, its white coat a stark contrast to the midnight black thestrals beside it. Unlike the thestrals, which seemed healthy despite their strange containment, the unicorn's coat looked lacklustre and dull, its horn worn and patchy. Its head drooped heavily over the stall door, staring downward blindly. Hermione could see a bucket of grain inside the stall behind it, but it looked untouched.</p><p>Hermione had only seen a unicorn once, while she had still been enrolled in The Care of Magical Creatures. To this day, what she remembered most from the encounter was the beautiful creature's soulful dark eyes.</p><p>The hauntingly blank gleam in this unicorn's gaze sent a heartbreaking, ominous chill down her back.</p><p>She couldn't tell what Hagrid might have done to it — perhaps it was simply the act of being held in captivity that had so worn its soul — but that gaze alone simultaneously kindled a flicker of dread and anger in Hermione's chest. She clenched her jaw but continued on. For some reason, some inexplicable sense of foreboding that had crept into her gut, she felt herself drawn forward into the heart of the Hangar, though toward what, she didn't know.</p><p>Off the main passageway branched a few rows of smaller cages that seemed far too crowded to be ethical. Hermione caught sight of immured gnomes, auguries, imps, jarveys, and, finally, a flock of excessively plucked jobberknolls, only a few blue feathers remaining in their normally magnificent, speckled plumes.</p><p>Her ire again flared. Oh, she knew <em>exactly</em> the rationale behind these Hunting "classes": Jobberknoll feathers were a key ingredient in truth serums and memory potions. No doubt the Sovereignty was using resources from these and other trapped animals to fuel their despicable reign of terror, exploiting the free labour of students like Ronáld who were having the time of their lives learning what the school marketed as 'tracking skills.'</p><p>Somewhere in another world entirely, Dolores Umbridge, that slimy, horrid excuse for a human being, was probably laughing delightedly in her cell in Azkaban, and Hermione had never been more grateful for how strongly the Dumbledore of her universe had fought to keep Hogwarts sheltered from the government's agenda for as long as he could.</p><p>Beside the large, garage-like Hangar entrance, she encountered two towering forest trolls, penned in by the clearly quite powerful invisible boundaries the chalk conferred, their oblong faces bored and irritated; clubs the lengths of two men were strewn haphazardly on the ground outside the lines.</p><p>And then Hermione found herself at the end of the very lengthy row of stalls and partitions, facing another wall in which a single iron door was inset. To her left was the entrance to a small, narrow passageway that stretched backward into darkness.</p><p>The darkness was unsettling. The door before her, on the other hand, drew her curiosity; she approached it warily and lifted her hand…</p><p>
  <em>Bam!</em>
</p><p>She jumped at the distinct sound of another door flinging the small passageway leading toward the depths of the Hangar, a muffled voice echoed off the walls:</p><p>"—aft blighter's left already?"</p><p>Hermione instinctively leapt away from the iron door, gripping her wand, though she reminded herself she couldn't perform magic — not without tripping one of the surveillance cameras. She hastily pressed herself against the wall as rapid footsteps approached, holding her breath.</p><p>The lighted tip of a wand appeared, and a tall figure approached the main body of the Hangar.</p><p>Hermione's breath caught again when he stepped into torchlight.</p><p>Fred - or George - Weasley stopped walking only meters from Hermione, peering down the long length of the aisle of stalls. The sleeves of his Oxford shirt, marked with the small logo of a Muggle brand she actually recognized, were rolled back to his elbows.</p><p>His arms were splattered dark with what could have only been blood.</p><p>Harry's description of the twins flashed through her mind:</p><p>
  <em>They design tools that help track, trap, and extract information. They're extremely twisted human beings.</em>
</p><p>In a surge of horror, Hermione realized that the blood in all likelihood did not belong to him.</p><p>"Gone," he proclaimed over his shoulder. "Skiving off again. And no one's the least bit surprised."</p><p>"Blasted half-breed. He knows this was the last of the lot." Down the passageway, George - or Fred - sounded as though he'd stuck out his head from whatever corridor the other twin had emerged. "What's he expect us to do, leave them to rot all night in our office?"</p><p>Hermione swiftly pieced together that comment and the blood on the arms of the twin closest to her and fought to quell a sudden and very violent urge to vomit. She clutched her chest, forcing air through her lungs and thoughts through her mind. Who could they possibly have been extracting information from here, at Hogwarts? Wouldn't that sort of thing be done at the Phoenix? It couldn't possibly be a student, Hermione decided<em>… </em>a House-Wizard?</p><p>She swallowed back another wave of nausea and forced herself to focus on the twins, clenching her wand tightly in her hand. Perhaps whoever it was wasn't killed yet. Perhaps she could still find a way to help them. But first she needed more information.</p><p>The twin closest to her had turned back toward the other's voice. "I'm positive that cretin doesn't have the mental capacity to process that sort of thing, Fred. A hundred galleons says the only kind of creature he's been hunting recently's another of his kind. He seemed a little too cheerful this week, if you ask me. Reckon he's off doing a bit of the horizontal mambo right now instead of his job."</p><p>The sound of pseudo-retching could be heard. <em>"Thank</em> you, brother, for that extremely disturbing image. Can you imagine the offspring? They'd be furry in the womb."</p><p>"Bet she's a troll."</p><p>"I literally just shivered thinking about it. Let's do wizardkind the favour of injecting her with a termination potion when the baby announcement comes."</p><p>The twin's bantering seemed almost exactly the same… but the content most certainly was not. And while they were standing here joking around, somewhere within the depths of the Hangar, something or someone was losing blood and <em>rotting.</em></p><p>George began walking back to the tunnel. Before Hermione could stop herself or analyze the prudency of her actions, she stealthily followed him, breathing as shallowly as possible. "I'd rather terminate Hagrid for professional negligence before it even comes to that. Buggering off to leave us to do this ourselves?"</p><p>"Wasn't in the blasted contract," Fred agreed.</p><p>"You're damn right it wasn't; I've got far better things to do with my night, and so do you."</p><p>"You know, we just might get the chance to have our way with him," Fred sad thoughtfully. "Lax disposal standards? The Sovereign will be less than pleased. I bet father could convince darling Minerva to let us take the giant oaf back to the home office for fifteen minutes."</p><p>Hermione could hear her heart hammering in her chest and prayed they couldn't. She squinted carefully at the ground in an effort to stay in the dim circle of light George's wand cast; tripping over a stray bucket or harness was not an option. As the twins continued their animated conversation, she trailed behind them through another door into a large, square tunnel. Auditory locks and a disillusionment charm inhibited the entrance; if Hermione hadn't leaped in directly behind Fred before the metal door slammed shut, she would have thought the original passageway was simply a dead end.</p><p>"Could it have killed him to start the incinerator?" George grumbled.</p><p>"Why George, after all these years of spectacular brilliance and innovation, you mean to tell me you aren't capable of lighting your own fires?"</p><p>"Oh ho, look who's the big talker today. You know exactly how capable I am of lighting a fire, brother<em>… </em>when I'm <em>paid</em> to do it."</p><p>"Lies. Angelina doesn't pay you a knut."</p><p>George chuckled. "No, when it comes to that kind of fire, I'm fairly certain the only one paying in knuts is <em>me."</em></p><p>The twins launched into an avoid discussion of Angelina Johnson's sexual aptitude — apparently, the both of them were familiar with it — and Hermione rolled her eyes exaspertedly in spite of herself. Some things didn't change…</p><p>She shook her head and tried to peer around them, at a dim, blue light glowing at the end of the tunnel. Despite the carefree repartee occurring in front of her, Hermione gripped her wand tightly, trying to prepare herself for the very serious injuries she might soon find. Even during the height of the Second Wizarding War, she had gotten little insight, beyond the Unforgivables, in exactly how extensive the Dark Arts could be as a tool of torture; shockingly, she was gaining an education of the most horrific kind here, in a distinctly non-combative state.</p><p>But she was afraid that whatever lay ahead might go far beyond even the awful experiences she'd had in her Dark Arts classes and with Draco.</p><p>Mentally, she repeated the Impressions Charm to disarm the surveillance cameras that Draco had taught her only a few hours earlier. If she could perform the charm correctly, she might be able to stun Fred and George (she did have the element of surprise, and invisibility), then Obliviate them, then take whoever it was they were torturing and run…</p><p>At the same time, she knew even that plan had the great probability of going very, very badly.</p><p>Suddenly, the tunnel emptied into to another long row of stalls, these made of metal. This aisle was more narrow and much darker than that in the main body of the Hangar, the low-hanging ceilings almost tomb-like. Bluebell flames had replaced regular fire here, casting long cyan shadows along the stone walls.</p><p>Fred and George briskly set off down the room's length, hardly giving any of the stalls a second glance. These were quite unlike those in the main Hangar: inhumanely narrow for any kind of thestral or animal that would traditionally be housed in such a corral.</p><p>Peculiarly, all of them were empty.</p><p>The maze of individual enclosures eventually spilled out into a large room. Hermione slowed near the final stall as Fred and George walked right up to a long worktable set beside a full fireplace and hearth. Then she saw what was <em>on</em> the table and across the stone floor:</p><p>Splatters of the same dark liquid that covered George's arms.</p><p>She froze completely.</p><p>Fred began packing a briefcase with instruments, though what they were exactly was difficult to distinguish in the darkness; as she squinted at them, George walked in front of her, blocking her view. The twins were clearly cleaning up, muttering scourgifying spells; George rolled down the sleeves of his now-clean shirt and buttoned the cuffs; Fred closed the briefcase with an audible snap.</p><p>Hermione quickly scanned the rest of the room: Stopped bottles, potions and powders lined shelves on the wall behind the twins, as did unmarked boxes, jars with spiders and snakes, and more strangely shaped contraptions that likely had vile uses at which Hermione could only shudder to guess.</p><p>But where were the people Fred had mentioned…?</p><p>Suddenly, the twin in question crossed the room, passing from her line of sight. "What should we do with this lot?"</p><p>Hermione's stomach turned over, and her breaths doubled in speed. <em>Godric,</em> whoever they were, they were right there, on the other side of the stall.</p><p>She gripped her wand, her hand sweaty and shaking. This was it. If she was going to do anything - if there was anything left for her to do… now was the time.</p><p>George glanced over at his brother, in the middle of fastening on a necktie. "Just light 'em up. Can't be terribly difficult if that bloody moron has been able to manage it for the past five years, can it?"</p><p>Hermione gritted her teeth and silently crossed to the far side of the aisle, every sense in her body on full alert and every nerve electrified. The gaping room stretched backward a great deal farther than she had expected, and she again squinted, peering into the blue shadows toward —</p><p>She suddenly stopped moving. Stopped feeling. Stopped <em>breathing.</em></p><p>She simply stared numbly, dumbly at the sight right in front of her.</p><p>Four fully-grown centaurs lay limply on the floor within circles of white chalk. And around them… Hermione's mind blanked, unable to fully fathom the carnage her eyes were seeing. Around them was…</p><p>Blood.</p><p>Mutilated limbs.</p><p>Chains.</p><p>Bones.</p><p>
  <em>Everywhere.</em>
</p><p>They had been… They had been <em>butchered.</em></p><p>In a rush, the realization of what she was observing suddenly slammed into her. Her vision narrowed in a tunnel of yellow and black; she collapsed to her knees and hardly had a moment to silence herself before she finally vomited beneath the Invisibility Cloak. She clutched the floor, trying to breathe, her entire body shaking while Fred and George continued to speak as though they were simply having a conversation over tea.</p><p>"—Sovereign fancies procedure on this."</p><p>"And since when have we ever followed any flipping procedures, I'd like to know? They don't have eyes on this room. Let's get rid of them. You never know when the International Confederation of Wizards'll drop by; meddling bastards have a nose for these sorts of things."</p><p>"Excellent point, Fred."</p><p>"Of course it is. Inexpugnabilis decrusto — niblet!"</p><p>Hermione vanished her own vomit and looked up slightly, still curled on the floor, her body soaked with sweat. Fred was standing with his wand pointed down at the floor. She forced herself to try to look at only what he was aiming at, and nothing around it. As if his wand was an eraser… the chalk wards etched on the stone had begun to vanish.</p><p>She thought back quickly to the incantation he'd spoken, and forced it through her memory, over and over, over and over, so she wouldn't have to focus on the next thing Fred had begun to do — levitate the slain centaurs, one by one, across the room toward what at first only appeared to be a particularly dark section of the far wall. But then bricks moved aside, revealing something else entirely, and as Fred began to pile the animals on top of each other as if they hadn't been living, breathing, intelligent beings and flames flickered to life, Hermione numbly recognized it for what it was.</p><p>George had earlier mentioned an incinerator.</p><p>This was it.</p><p>Hermione didn't have the emotional energy to feel anymore horror or abhorrence than she already did. Why anyone would ever do such an unspeakable thing to such wise and beautiful creatures was not a question she could even bear to ask. Could they have stood with Riddle during the Second Intervention? But surely they couldn't have posed enough of a threat to such a powerful wizard as Dumbledore to have warranted so monstrous an end as this…</p><p>And she had been too late.</p><p>They were all dead.</p><p>Water began to drip down onto her hand. She jerked, her response dulled, and she suddenly became aware that tears were streaming down her face.</p><p>"Wait," Fred said suddenly, sounding surprised. "This one's still breathing."</p><p>Those words jolted Hermione out of her stupor. Swiftly, she looked back up. He was standing above the final centaur, the only one whose limbs had not been so… brutalized. Her blurred vision focused on the creature, straining against the dim light. He had silver-blond hair, though it was so caked with blood and dirt she at first hadn't noticed, and she suddenly realized with an electric-like shock that it was <em>Firenze.</em></p><p>Fred carelessly prodded him with his boot, and Hermione herself cringed. "Should I kill it already?"</p><p>She gripped her wand and stood abruptly. She felt dizzy as soon as she did, and she quickly bent double, clutching the wall, until her circulation system returned its natural flow to her brain. She didn't know what she would be able to do, not in this state. All she knew was that she had to do <em>something.</em></p><p>Until George saved her from having to do anything at all.</p><p>"Really, brother? You'd spare that one from a long-suffering death?" He laughed harshly. "You're going soft on me. Leave the beast for Hagrid. Whenever he re-emerges from his <em>lurve </em>cave."</p><p>Fred snorted and turned away from Firenze's motionless body, crossing the room to the incinerator. "The last of the centaurs. Pity the Sovereign's suspending the project; I've quite enjoyed traversing our old stomping grounds. Shall we have some sort of ceremony?"</p><p><em>The </em><strong><em>last</em></strong><em> of them? </em>Hermione thought numbly. That didn't - That couldn't possibly be right. The Hogwarts herd had held over forty — or <em>fifty —</em></p><p>"Oh, unquestionably." George picked up a bottle from the shelf and smiled. "And I do believe our good friend Raziel would like to join us."</p><p>Hermione recognized the reference instantly: Raziel's powder, a partially unstable metal alloy Nicolas Flamel had discovered some centuries earlier. When directly mixed with a pre-existing spark, the slightest pinch would burn to over 1200 degrees Celsius.</p><p>A malevolent smile that was at once so like and yet so <em>unlike</em> Fred's, given the horrific context of his surroundings, lit up his face. "Send him right over to me."</p><p>She knew what was coming and couldn't watch. As George tossed the bottle to Fred, she turned away, burying her face in her hands, forcing herself to breathe, breathe, breathe to ward off what could easily become another panic attack. A flare of hot wind swept across her face before she heard the incinerator door slam shut with a reverberating <em>clang</em>.</p><p>When she finally raised her face slightly, her hands still cupped in horror around her nose and mouth, the twins were standing at the fireplace beside the table. George shoved a hand through his hair. "How do I look? Shag-able?"</p><p>"Undoubtedly. Give it to her for you and me both. I'll wrap things up at the Phoenix."</p><p>"I owe you one, brother. We'll switch next time; she'll never know."</p><p>They simultaneously tossed Floo powder into the air and disappeared in a burst of green flames.</p><p>The room descended into a deafening silence.</p><p>Hermione took two shallow breaths before she stumbled forward, then dashed to the remaining, fallen centaur. She had heard George - Fred - <em>one</em> of them say this room was free of surveillance cameras, and she didn't doubt it was true — she could only imagine the Sovereignty didn't want the mass slaughter she inferred had happened here to ever be recorded. She still muttered a quick diagnostic charm to be certain, but when it came up empty, she threw off her Invisibility Cloak and fell to the ground at Firenze's side.</p><p>Blood gushed from gaping wounds over the entirety of his body, his hands and equine legs stiff, as if he'd been immobilized. She didn't waste a moment; she reversed the spell and began to mumble every healing charm she knew to stitch together his split skin. Some healed slowly, so painfully slowly… but many others simply refused to respond, which meant they'd been inflicted by a tool or poison of incredibly Dark Magic.</p><p>Hermione's heart sank. She blinked back another wave of tears. "No, no, no, no…" she muttered frantically, unsuccessfully pressing her own hand against a festering stab wound on Firenze's chest to try to stop the bleeding, his body trembling beneath her fingers—</p><p>"Human…"</p><p>Hermione started violently and barely restrained a small shriek. Her heart pounding, she looked quickly to the centaur's face. Firenze's eyes had cracked open, staring straight at her. The intensity of his piercing blue gaze pinned her in place.</p><p>"I do not… believe we have met," he breathed faintly.</p><p>The last time Hermione had seen him had been at Dumbledore's funeral, standing strong and proud. But now… now the situation was almost completely reversed, his nearly shrivelled, shaking form a far cry from her memory.</p><p>What sort of awful human being would ever inflict this kind of pain on another? Nothing any creature would or could ever do would <em>ever </em>deserve to have anything like this done to them - ever. Images of Draco and Hestia and Daphne Greengrass's mother and now Firenze flashed before her eyes, and here Hermione was in the middle of it and didn't know what to<em> do, </em>and she choked back a sob and began to cry, openly and unashamedly.</p><p>"But we <em>have</em> met," he whispered suddenly.</p><p>His voice jerked her into action. Roughly, she sniffed and wiped the tears from her face and hurriedly placed her hand back over the profusely bleeding wound on his chest. He hissed in pain, and she began to apologize, over and over. He was <em>dying, </em>dying because one of her<em> own kind </em>had done this to him.</p><p>She had to stop it. She <em>would</em> stop it.</p><p>Fred's mention of a slow and painful death could only mean one thing: poison. Her fingers fumbled in her robe pocket for the knapsack, enlarging it and summoning the object she sought. She attempted to grasp it and dropped it twice; finally, her uncontrollably shaking fingers closed around it. "This - This is a bezoar," she said quickly, holding it close to his face. "Here - just - just take it - It can draw out the poison —"</p><p>Firenze shook his head, the motion so weak it was hardly perceptible. "The stone will not… remove this poison," he whispered, his speech slurred.</p><p>Hermione stared at him in astonished horror. "Won't you even <em>try?"</em> she cried, bringing it nearer his mouth. "Please! There's a chance it could work!"</p><p>His back stiffened and straightened, and his gaze shifted to her sharply, shining with emotion. For a moment, the movement harkened back to image of the powerful creature he had been. "It will not, and I… I will <em>not</em> have that shoved… down my throat. Let me —" he choked in a shallow breath of air, "— pass from this world with — <em>dignity, </em>human."</p><p>Hermione froze, her tear-filled eyes locked with his. His words evoked the horrible memory of one of her earliest interactions with Draco, when he begged her to simply let him die. Of course she hadn't — the very idea of it was as unthinkable to her now as it had been then — but if the poison the Weasleys had used on Firenze was incurable, this was a different situation entirely. And for these people and creatures who had been kept in captivity, it seemed that choosing the manner and nature of their own, imminent death was to them the greatest freedom they could seek.</p><p>While Hermione, thank Merlin and all the gods, had never been in a position where she could understand it herself… she could certainly respect it.</p><p>A heavy sorrow settled into her soul. She looked down at the bezoar held limply in her fingers, and curled her hand tightly around it.</p><p>"Is there nothing I can do for you?" she whispered.</p><p>At once, the energy that had sprung to Firenze's frame departed from it. His gleaming blue eyes slowly fluttered shut. "The… stars. I would — like to…"</p><p>He didn't finish speaking, but Hermione understood.</p><p>Another wave of tears burned at her eyes. She lifted her wand and, looking up, murmured a transparency spell; the ceiling dissolved, and the black expanse of sky above Hogwarts spilled out above them, thick with glowing pinpricks of light. At the same time, she extinguished all the bluebell fires save one that very faintly illuminated them both. "Now you can," she said thickly.</p><p>Firenze's eyes again cracked open and shifted sideways, toward the view of the universe. He let out a long sigh.</p><p>Hermione set her jaw, her chin trembling. "Can I help you move so you can see a bit better?" she asked waveringly. After he looked at her for a long time before nodding, she shifted behind him and carefully helped him twist his shoulders and head upward, raising them so they rested in her lap. "There," she whispered, trying not to cry.</p><p>For a moment, he did not speak at all, his blue gaze fully open now, staring into the night with such longing it broke her heart. She wiped fiercely at her eyes, but one of her tears accidentally landed on his face; she gently wiped it way. "I'm so sorry," she choked.</p><p>His eyes suddenly focused on hers. "What is your… name, human?"</p><p>She sniffed, tried to compose her face, and failed horribly. "Hermione… Granger."</p><p>"Hermione… Granger," he echoed, staring at her intently. "You have… travelled very far to… get here."</p><p>For a moment, Hermione thought she must have heard him incorrectly.</p><p>Then she jerked and stared down at him.</p><p><em>"What?"</em> she whispered.</p><p>Firenze looked back at the sky, his eyes shining with tears in the faint blue light of the bluebell flame. "One by one, they… found us all," he breathed, "tried to… extract our… most valuable prediction from us." He inhaled in a slow, gasping breath. "But I always knew, I would… see it come to pass before my own light too was… extinguished…"</p><p>Hermione had to listen closely to follow his slurring voice; when she pieced together his words, she started. "Wait," she said slowly. When he'd said… seeing the centaurs' most valuable prediction coming to pass, he couldn't have possibly meant…</p><p>"Me? No!" she exclaimed, then retracted her statement quickly lest she crush the dying beast's final convictions. "I mean — my being here - It was a mistake - in - in battle, in my universe. A - A miscast spell—"</p><p>"Look at the sky, Hermione Granger," Firenze said very suddenly. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but his gaze was so intent that she shut it and lifted her head, looking upward. "Do you see… a very bright light, directly north of the… easternmost star in — Cassiopeia?"</p><p>After a moment, Hermione reluctantly identified the W-shaped constellation, even though her mind was already sceptical of whatever he was about to say. Celestial predictions were made for and about Harry Potter, not her. "Yes. I see it," she said, even though she doubted she had found the astral body to which he was directing her.</p><p>"That is a… binary star," he breathed. His body had begun to shake more violently, and his voice began to fade. "It… is projected to eclipse the… great red giant Xeranthemus Dai. You must… understand… the significance of this."</p><p>Her heart had begun to pound, and she found she suddenly, selfishly didn't care one whit about the stars. She desperately wanted to shake the centaur, demand he tell her everything he knew of how and why she had come to be here rather than speak in bloody <em>riddles,</em> but she simply couldn't… not when the Weasleys had already done far worse for what she suspected were very similar reasons.</p><p>"You know, don't you? That I'm from a different world," she whispered. "Please, please, can you possibly tell me… Is there any way of going back?"</p><p>"Going <em>back?"</em> Firenze echoed in astonishment. His gaze shifted toward her, but the clarity and intensity of it had faded, his line of sight disoriented. <em>"</em>Your past is… simply training for your… present. Interdimensional shifts require vast… astral power. They do not just… happen in error." He choked in a breath. "You were… brought here — for a deep purpose."</p><p>His words crashed into her like a landslide; they were not ones she wanted to hear. "The purpose of what?" she couldn't help but exclaim. "Standing against an entire empire?"</p><p>The centaur suddenly stared deep into her eyes, his own wide. "Like it or not, this is… your world now, Hermione… Granger. I beg you to… use the power you have been given to… create a… place in which… the… innocent among… us… can be…"</p><p>His eyes slipped shut, and his body began to convulse violently. Desperately, Hermione tried to protect his head; after an agonizing expanse of time, the spasms slowed.</p><p>"Firenze?" She brushed his tangled hair away from his sickly pale, sweat-soaked face, shaking his shoulders very slightly. "Firenze, please, please wake up… Firenze!"</p><p>A few moments passed before his azure pools cracked open only slightly. She let out a heavy sigh of relief, even though they fluttered shut again just as quickly.</p><p>"Do not let— centaurs… perish again in… this place…" he rasped hoarsely.</p><p>She nodded immediately. "You have my solemn word," she said fiercely, hot tears again streaming down her face.</p><p>Firenze's lips continued to move, but his voice had become so faint Hermione had to lean her head right beside his mouth to hear. At first, it sounded like gibberish; after a moment, she realized with a jolt he was speaking in ancient runic, and she swiftly translated the last thing she heard.</p><p>
  <em>I do so love the stars.</em>
</p><p>The words puffing lightly against her ear stopped.</p><p>Hermione's own breaths temporarily halted. "Firenze," she said softly. "Firenze!"</p><p>This time, he did not respond.</p><p>Emotions sprang to her eyes and began to pour from them with an uncontrollable ferocity. "No…" she choked, but it was the only word she could manage to speak. She bent low over the centaur's head and heaved gasping sobs until her tears ran dry.</p><p>For a long time, his breaths were so shallow Hermione could hardly see his chest moving. At some point, though Hermione did not know exactly when, even this faint motion stopped. When she eventually realized it had, she took a small breath, cleaned the blood and dirt from his body, very gently lay his head and shoulders back on the ground, and stood.</p><p>The heaviness in her chest was gone. As what so often occurs following the release of such powerful emotions, her grief and anxiety had been replaced by something else entirely: a very clear sense of purpose.</p><p>Firenze was right.</p><p>In constantly remembering the people and things she would no longer be able to see and do from her life in Universe A… Hermione had forgotten who she still <em>was</em>, both there, and here. For however long as she was in this world, it was hers as much as it was anyone else's, and what was happening in it was so horrendous, obscene, horrific… Well, there simply were not enough words to describe what it was, and if she ran for her own life now without at least <em>trying</em> to do something for these people and creatures, now that she had seen exactly the sort of life, and death, to which so many of them had been sentenced —</p><p>She would never, ever forgive herself.</p><p>Hermione gazed around the despicable torture - no, <em>death</em> chamber.</p><p>She would honour Firenze's final wish.</p><p>These walls had witnessed a great abomination. Never would such a thing happen here again. Nor would those complicit in the atrocity walk away unscathed.</p><p>And Hermione knew exactly what to do to accomplish both.</p><hr/><p>Tap. Tap tap.</p><p>Harry gritted his teeth, clenching his quill in his hand.</p><p>Tap. Tap tap tap.</p><p>He began to grind the tip of the quill into the parchment of his Dark Arts assignment. He didn't care if it would leave a mark on Granger's exquisite cherry desk, where he'd been forced to take up residence after the awkwardness of that evening had sent Malfoy scuttling back to Harry's room, and Pansy promptly running after him like the goodhearted witch she was.</p><p>Tap tap. Tap—</p><p>"Don't you have someone else to off and ruddy annoy?" he exploded, spinning in Hermione's desk chair.</p><p>The much-detested <em>mindreader</em> blinked up at him innocently from her place sprawled on Hermione's bed, her eyes wide. The flat side of her own quill was poised over an open book, ready to smack it again. "What?" she said with such surprise it surely must have been feigned. "This is bothering you?"</p><p>Harry raised his eyebrows at her in disbelief.</p><p>The dwarf-ette — is that what the females were called? — sighed and thankfully set down her quill. "Sorry, it's just… I know… what's happened. With Uncle Luc. And what you <em>want </em>to happen."</p><p><em>'</em> <em>Uncle </em> <strong> <em>Luc?'</em> </strong></p><p>What Harry <em>wanted</em> was to hurl either his dinner or his inkwell, he wasn't certain which. His lip curled in disgust, and he shoved a hand through his hair. Of course she knew. There wasn't a single thing the blasted child <em>didn't</em> know. Merlin, he knew he shouldn't have let her in when she'd come knocking on the door an hour earlier.</p><p>He shot her a dangerous expression. "Then you realize how utterly classified that information is. If <em>anyone</em> discovers what you now know, you little mandrake, I will find you and personally—"</p><p>"I <em>told</em> you already. No one will," she interrupted, sounding tired.</p><p>Harry wasn't particularly pleased he had to take a twelve-year-old's word on that. He considered Obliviating her, but she had already pompously informed him that it wouldn't work - she'd just 'read' him again, or whatever it was she did.</p><p>His gaze shifted to the timepiece on Hermione's desk. It was three hours past curfew. Where in the bloody hell was Granger? He reminded himself to dig out his Marauders' Map as soon as the little imp wasn't looking; he didn't know if Granger had already blabbed to her about it or not, but he at least deserved to keep <em>one</em> secret from her all-seeing gaze.</p><p>"The day is coming when you'll be caught out after hours," he told her sourly. "And when it does, I won't be the one saving you from detention."</p><p>"Worth it," she said without a moment's hesitation, opening her book again.</p><p>Harry honestly had no idea how she could stand to be around him; he prided himself on his ability to drive off anyone he deemed too obnoxious to share his presence (i.e. everyone), but though he had countlessly tried to be his anal worst around her, still she stayed.</p><p>"Why are you here?" he repeated.</p><p>She looked back up at him, resting her chin on her book. "Same reason you are. Neither of us can be in our rooms right now. In my case, my housemates are, er…" She ducked her unruly head, studying the bedspread. "They don't… quite… like me very well. I'd… rather stay here forever, if I could."</p><p>Harry honestly couldn't say he didn't feel the same about his own housemates, let alone the psychopathic female Weasley. The Corner distraction had seemed to be working so far, but he was waiting for the moment Ginevra remembered her real obsession was Harry and was back to clinging to him like static electricity.</p><p>Yes, the isolated Head dorms were one of the main reasons he'd worked so bloody hard to get Head Boy. But Harry had never expected My would have convinced their<em> dear mother</em> to buy her the Head Girl-ship. Nor had he ever expected that the nightmarish living arrangement would transform into the closest thing to heaven he might ever experience.</p><p>Except when it was invaded by bloody <em>pests.</em></p><p>He realised then that Cassiopeia — honestly, what kind of idiotic nickname was <em>Peia?</em> — had, thank all the gods, stopped talking. Sighing in relief, he turned back to his potions homework.</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>He hadn't even written two lines.</p><p>"What?" he snapped.</p><p>"How do you do it?"</p><p>Harry looked back at her impatiently, narrowing his eyes in question.</p><p>After a moment, Cassiopeia looked away from him, which he considered a victory. "Still… talk to your mum," she elaborated. "After you found out what she did to your family."</p><p>His heart automatically began to pound. Vexation and panic clenched his stomach. He gripped his pen tightly. That little tattletale… She'd ruined things enough as it was, spilling what she had in front of Malfoy and <em>Pansy</em> of all the ruddy people in the world, and now she wanted to <em>discuss</em> it like they were confidants?</p><p>"Did Pansy put you up to this?" he demanded. She'd already tried to ask him about it, but he'd managed to change the subject or extract himself from the situation before she could lock him with the pleading blue stare he knew she knew he had a very hard time turning down.</p><p>"No!" Cassiopeia exclaimed. "It's just… I mean, I… It's - It's hard, isn't it? Knowing… that, and… having to pretend you don't, every time you meet."</p><p>Harry's jaw tightened. He quickly looked away from her and her blasted Legilimencing gaze before she could heaven forbid see the <em>vulnerability</em> her unwitting words were causing him to feel.</p><p>The girl had no bloody idea how hard it was.</p><p>He looked back at her to tell her exactly that, but when he opened his mouth to tear into her… his sharp gaze noticed something strange. Cassiopeia wasn't even looking at him; she was instead again picking at the bed, her shoulders slumped.</p><p>Now that Harry thought about it, she really hadn't been <em>quite</em> so annoyingly chatty that night as she usually was.</p><p>On any other day, he would have rejoiced and left her to her moping. But he suddenly found her uncharacteristically glum demeanour rather illuminating. If she was able to see everyone's memories, which she obviously was, even the nightmares, the sins, the hidden desires, the hatred and the crimes… Well then. Perhaps she did have some idea of how difficult it was after all.</p><p>"Having a goal makes it — bearable," he found himself saying, the words flat on his tongue.</p><p>Cassiopeia gazed up at him, her brow furrowed. "What sort of goal?"</p><p>Harry couldn't believe he was actually voicing this aloud, and to the midget bane of his existence, of all people. "Revenge," he said simply.</p><p>She frowned sadly. "No… I don't want to cause anyone more pain than they're already feeling," she said, staring at the bed. "It just… hurts sometimes."</p><p>Harry suddenly realized she wasn't interested in forcing him to share his <em>feelings</em> about his disturbed childhood. No, what she really wanted to talk about was her unfortunate living situation with the nasty Gryffindor second years.</p><p>A curious mixture of relief and annoyance flooded him. Of all the ruddy things in the world… Now the little imp was sodding <em>telling him</em> her<em> troubles?</em></p><p>At the same time, a part of him felt strangely obligated to respond.</p><p>"Don't even bother with what they think," he grunted. "They're all sodding idiots anyway."</p><p>Cassiopeia seemed to brighten, and he cursed himself; what was he doing, acting<em> friendly? </em>No, not friendly, he reevaluated — he was taking drastic measures to ensure she didn't start sobbing on his shoulder.</p><p>She crossed her arms over the top of her book, resting her chin on the top of it, and studied him closely, which, he had quickly learned, was never a good thing. "You should tell her. Pansy."</p><p>Harry slammed his hand down on the desk and spun toward her. Today had been nothing but one blasted blitz on his character after another: first Granger, then Malfoy, then Pansy shooting him a dark look before she left to tend to Malfoy's ego, and finally <em>this</em> — this judgmental nuisance, who probably wasn't even old enough to know how to spell that word. How dare they? It wasn't as if they were all ruddy saints themselves!</p><p>"The bloody <em>hell</em> I will!" he snarled. "What do you think I am, one of your darling Slytherins? I'm not sensitive, I don't have friends, and I don't have to <em>cry</em> about my problems to anyone within listening distance!"</p><p>She stared at him, her eyes wide. "It isn't for <em>you," </em>she said snottily after a minute with a know-it-all attitude that reminded him so much of Granger, his right eye twitched. "It's for her. So she knows you trust her."</p><p>Granger's earlier comment about friendship not being about yourself but the other person exasperatingly buzzed in his head like a mosquito.</p><p>"Pansy knows I trust her," he said automatically, trying to ignore the fact that he was arguing with an adolescent.</p><p>Cassiopeia shook her head. "Not when you won't tell her the only other thing you can never stop thinking about."</p><p>The quill in his hand snapped; he threw it on the ground and leaned toward her furiously. "Now you listen here, you little busybody, just because you have access to everyone's secrets does not give you license to go around broadcasting them!" he hissed. "Did you ever think that the reason I don't talk about it is because I bloody well don't want to? Have you? What you've seen is no one's blasted business but my—"</p><p>"Harry?"</p><p>Mid-word, his mouth snapped shut. His gaze shot daggers at Cassiopeia.</p><p>He would kill her yet. He would.</p><p>After a moment, Harry forced himself to look toward the door. Pansy was standing there, looking worried. And the last thing Harry had wanted to do was give her something else to worry about.</p><p>"Is something wrong?" she asked slowly.</p><p>"Nope," Cassiopeia said before he could respond. "I was just leaving." She sat up and hopped off the bed, gathering her books. For a moment, she looked back at him, and with a surge of dread, Harry knew what was coming before she even opened her mouth. "I think Harry has something he wants to tell you anyway."</p><p>If Pansy hadn't been standing right in front of him, Harry wouldn't have hesitated to give the devil child the two-fingered salute.</p><p>He glowered at her, even when she gave him a wavering smile and turned to leave.</p><p>"Wait a minute, Peia," Pansy said suddenly, reaching out to catch her. "It must be beyond late by now; you shouldn't go out without Harry's Invisibility Cloak. You remember where he keeps it, don't you?"</p><p>Harry swiftly stared at her in alarm.</p><p>Pansy was already looking over at him appraisingly.</p><p>He raised his eyebrows in disbelief that this was even a question and gave her a forceful expression that unequivocally said NO.</p><p>She pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowing in determination.</p><p>"You can give it back tomorrow," she said firmly — to him, rather than the five-year-old menace who was about put her grubby little fingers all over his father's…</p><p>Gritting his teeth, Harry took a breath, and then another, forcing his temper down before it exploded. Pansy didn't know the Cloak was the only thing he had of James. She didn't know she was the only person on earth who knew it still existed with the exception of the person who gave it to him. She didn't know it had taken Harry over a year and a half to bring himself to even show it to <em>her.</em></p><p>She couldn't possibly have known… because he hadn't told her.</p><p>Mentally, he heard Granger and Cassiopeia sing as one, <em>"Told you so!"</em></p><p>He let out a frustrated breath and looked up again. Only Pansy remained in the room, her blue eyes unreadable. For a long moment, she simply looked at him.</p><p>Harry shifted uncomfortably, fully aware of the question that was sure to come any moment, and that he was going to have to respond somehow.</p><p>No, a part of him argued, he <em>should</em> respond. Pansy certainly deserved that much from him, if not for the love she still felt for him now, for the kindness and concern she had once shown him when no one else in the world had noticed or cared.</p><p>But he couldn't tell her.</p><p>Not when there was the chance, however small, that she wouldn't understand. That she would turn away from him. That she would hate him.</p><p>That she would suddenly feel toward him all the things he felt toward his mother once he'd discovered what she'd done.</p><p>"What did you want to say to me?" she asked hesitantly.</p><p>Harry stood and turned to the window — anything to avoid looking into her concerned blue eyes. "Is there a single tissue left in my room after Mushy Malfoy mopped up his tears?" he asked sardonically.</p><p>She sighed. "Harry, don't be a box, not about this." Her words became muffled slightly, as if she'd covered her face with her hands. "Oh, it was an awful way for him to find out. Merlin… I wanted to run away like Hermione did. Hide next to that boulder by the lake... you know the one. You and Hermione — you weren't obligated to tell him like I was. I'm his <em>oldest friend,</em> Harry! I should have said something; I've had so many chances…"</p><p>Harry fought the urge to turn and pull her into his arms and comfort her, knowing he might break if he did.</p><p>He heard her approach him from behind, her voice tired. "Can you just imagine what any of us would go through if we overheard the same thing?"</p><p>He tensed, and didn't turn around.</p><p>He knew he never would overhear the same thing.</p><p>His hands clenched into fists. Malfoy had no blasted idea how lucky he was. Even if his father might not be alive much longer, at least the Slytherin had a very slight chance of seeing him one last time.</p><p>Harry's father, on the other hand, was very dead.</p><p>Pansy moved beside him, sitting down on the window seat, her brown hair tumbling down gorgeously over her shoulders, wearing a powder blue sweater that perfectly matched the colour of her eyes. Harry suddenly didn't want to talk about his father or Malfoy's father or talk about <em>anything,</em> really; he instead much preferred to do several things that didn't involved talking at all.</p><p>Pansy laced him with another searching stare that halted those thoughts in their tracks. "Does it have anything to do with why you've been avoiding me?" she asked quietly.</p><p>He quickly looked away from her, crossing his arms. "I haven't," he grunted.</p><p>"You have." She bit her lip. "Ever since Peia mentioned your… mother, the other night, you have."</p><p>He set his jaw. Damn that meddling child. She'd had no idea the can of worms she'd opened. For as long as Harry could remember, everyone had always pointed out — whether complimentarily or disparagingly — his similarities with his mother: his eyes, his stare, his unwillingness to tolerate extraneous nonsense, his ability to see the weaknesses of others and rip them to shreds.</p><p>Somehow, Pansy had been able to see through that, see something deep inside him that was <em>not</em> Lily Evans… and her unfailing confidence in that, whatever it was, was one of the very few things that made Harry himself also believe he wasn't fated to turn into his mother, either.</p><p>But what if the truth made Pansy reconsider that?</p><p>A hand gently touched his arm, and he stiffened.</p><p>"Harry, I don't want to pry, and I don't want to cause you undue grief, either," she said softly. "You don't have to say anything, really you don't. But I'd — I'd like you to know the only reason I asked at all is because I <em>love</em> you."</p><p>She took a small breath, and he briefly shut his eyes, an invisible pressure starting to squeeze his chest. "And I… I know I probably can't do anything about it, and it'll protect the both of us if you don't. I know that, I do. But if simply having someone else share the weight of that knowing, whatever it is, would help you, somehow… It's remarkable how much of a relief that can be. That's all I want."</p><p>Harry clenched his jaw, his heart racing in his throat. No — This fight was his and his alone. He didn't need or want help, didn't need or want to put at unnecessary risk the only person who he knew cared about him without strings attached and without fail. Yet the almost foreign part of his soul that only seemed to activate around Pansy compelled him to open his mouth, even though every bone in his body bellowed their disagreement and his stomach clenched in knots at the sound of his own voice.</p><p>"Do you remember," he began slowly, his gaze locked impassively on the blackness outside the window, "when we first started working together, our third year."</p><p>In he window's reflection, he saw Pansy look back at him quickly. After a moment, she nodded. "Yes, of course I do."</p><p>"And when I was doing an embarrassingly terrible job on that project, I said it was because I'd been having dreams that were interfering with my sleep, but that was all."</p><p>She nodded again, her eyes questioning.</p><p>"That wasn't… the whole story." Harry paused. When she didn't say anything, he took a deep breath and said woodenly, "The green flashes — They weren't just a dream. They were a memory. I hadn't known, until I used a Pensieve to look at them, right after school started. When I did, I saw—"</p><p>His mouth abruptly stopped working. He tried to continue, but all he could think of was the scene that had haunted him for five years, and the hazy memory of it for far longer than that: the shout of surprise, the two green flashes in quick succession… the mop of black that transformed into a shock of red.</p><p>Suddenly, Pansy's hand gently curled around his. "What did you see, sweetheart?" she asked softly, dread in her voice.</p><p>He gritted his teeth and forced himself to go on. "Lily… impersonated my father. She was the one who killed my grandparents, Liv. Not my father."</p><p>For a moment, only silence met his words. As it stretched out painfully, he braced himself for the fallout, dread crushing his chest like a thestral had suddenly stood on top of him.</p><p><em>"What?"</em> Pansy finally whispered.</p><p>His hands tightened into fists. He bowed his head, unable to look at her.</p><p>"But you were… you were so young! Weren't you just… weren't you only three when it happened?"</p><p>He nodded. "My father's parents were… visiting," he said hollowly, flatly recalling other details the Pensieve analysis had revealed. "Lily was at a party, but my father had stayed home. It was late - I must've gotten out of bed to look for them. That's when I saw it."</p><p>"But…" For a moment, Pansy couldn't seem to speak either. "But… your father. I thought he… I only know what I've read and heard, but didn't he confess to it?"</p><p>Harry shook his head once, tautly. "Lily set it all up perfectly," he said bitterly. "She's the one who dug up those old letters between my father and my grandfather - the ones that showed them arguing about supporting the conservative movement. She left the empty bottles of firewhiskey around him. He'd started drinking again, so of course it wasn't a stretch for anyone to conclude he'd had too much, and that things escalated from there."</p><p>Recounting it again dragged up every intolerable emotion Harry had fought so hard to banish to the deepest depths of his being. Sentiment was an unacceptable weakness, Lily had taught him — crying had <em>never</em> been an option, not even as a child. Harry had cried, really cried, only once in his life, after his mother had told him his father was a bad man, and was never coming back home.</p><p>He still remembered the sting of Lily's slap.</p><p>After that, during any visible moment of weakness, his mother would spit at him that he was turning into his soft, spineless murderer of a father who had drank and had wallowed in his personal miseries and had let his emotions get the better of him, and Harry had learned very quickly to bury any shreds of James Potter's evident personality.</p><p>"The worst thing was that <em>he</em> believed he'd actually done it, though of course he didn't know why," he said bitterly, unable to completely mask the well of hatred he reserved especially for Lily Evans. "The Imperius would have been too kind — my father would have known he'd been under it, even if all the evidence still pointed against him. So she used the Confundus Charm instead to make him unsure of everything that had happened that night. He was labelled an unstable Old-Blood, a closet conservative who lashed out against his progressive parents. And for that… he received the Dementor's Kiss."</p><p>"While your mother walked away with the Potter fortune and her Muggle-born name," Pansy whispered, sounding horrified.</p><p>Harry swallowed and nodded, his jaw tight. Against his better judgement, his attention was drawn to his reflection in the window: Quidditch build; dark, messy hair, poor vision that absolutely would have resulted in glasses if Lily hadn't forced him into contacts as soon as he was old enough to wear them and then an expensive Muggle surgery to fix his eyesight at 16. While he might have acted like his mother, he looked exactly like his father.</p><p>Lily had always hated that about him.</p><p>Abruptly, Pansy stood stiffly, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy.</p><p>Fear clenched Harry from his shell to his centre. No one in their right mind would ever want any part of the nightmare that was his family, his life. She would surely fear him now. She would surely leave him. She—</p><p>— wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his side. "Oh, Harry," she breathed, her voice choked. "I'm so very sorry for what happened to your father."</p><p>He froze. To his horror, his chin began to wobble, and he stubbornly set his jaw, trying to breathe. Unspeakable gratefulness and pain and relief rushed through every nerve in his body.</p><p>The corners of his eyes began to burn.</p><p>At any other time, he would have swallowed back the sentiment with an efficiency and skill few others possessed. But as he watched a single drop of water slip down his cheek in the window's reflection, Harry suddenly realized that, in that very moment, he felt and looked more like his own conception of James Potter than he perhaps ever had.</p><p>His mother would have scorned him instantly. But, in that brief moment, Harry embraced the emotions like the father he would never have the chance to know.</p><p>And as the only woman who had ever truly loved him held him tightly, he released the tears that had waited nearly fifteen agonizing years to fall.</p><hr/><p>Hermione dragged herself into the common room, the Marauders' Map clutched between her fingers. She knew exactly where everyone was:</p><p>Pansy and Harry, her room.</p><p>Draco, Harry's room.</p><p>Peia, Gryffindor Tower.</p><p>She suspected the disclosure of Lucius Malfoy's whereabouts was the reason behind the somewhat odd placement of Draco and Harry. Something inside her ached slightly simply thinking about it, but she forced herself to refocus.</p><p>There would be time for that. But not right now.</p><p>On the map, she checked the Hogwarts grounds for the hundredth time.</p><p>No one.</p><p>Hagrid was safely inside his hut.</p><p>Filch and Mrs. Norris were in the dungeons.</p><p>Fred and George Weasley were long gone, even though they'd never shown up on the Map in the first place, which led her to suspect some part of the Hangar had been made Unplottable.</p><p>She collapsed on the plush armchair at the back of the common room, near the well-warded basic living quarters she'd constructed for Draco after Harry had announced he couldn't stay with him anymore. Any passer-by who hadn't donated a single drop of blood to the ward — in other words, anyone other than Harry, Pansy, Hermione, and Peia — would see only a continuation of the common room wall, and nothing more… certainly not a small, partially walled-off room.</p><p>Hermione closed her eyes in exhaustion.</p><p>Blurred images of a Harry Potter-worthy plan flashed through her mind:</p><p>
  <em>Locating and disabling every surveillance camera perched around the Hangar with Tom Riddle's Impressions Charm.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Casting a silencing charm so no noise escaped the building.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Using the same "Impenetrable" chalk-erasing spell Fred had uttered to create enough of a space in every warded stall and pen that the animals constrained within them could squirm free.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Levitating the troll's clubs to strategically destroy whole swaths of the stables, then punching through the wall into the area she had mentally labelled the death chamber and decimating just as many stalls there.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Reuniting the trolls with said clubs and provoking them with a flock of dive-bombing canaries until the two creatures had beaten a gaping hole into the side of the Hangar.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Using the Muffliato Charm on their steps as they lumbered after the birds into the Forbidden Forest.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Throwing herself behind a fallen stall door as an angry herd of malnourished hippogriffs that had been imprisoned behind the initial iron door she'd encountered earlier hurtled out the hole the trolls had made and launched themselves into the night.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Coaxing the thestrals and other animals out the same hole using raw meat and feed, shooing them off into the forest as well.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Running through every passageway in the Hangar, every previously locked door and blocked wall, using the Homenum Revelio charm and other life-sensing spells until she knew without any shadow of a doubt that every creature had been accounted for and removed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Finding a small bottle of hydrozoic acid, one of a shockingly large number of explosive chemicals stored in a frighteningly haphazard manner amongst Fred and George's stash of pain-inducing aids and instruments.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sprinkling Raziel's powder around the interior perimeter of the Hangar, down every aisle and along every wall.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Emptying nearly the entirety of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes explosives from her knapsack onto the floor in the middle of the death chamber until the pile stretched well above her head.</em>
</p><p>At the very memory of the bluebell flame-lit hall, tears stung Hermione's eyes. She blinked rapidly, swiping at her face.</p><p>She wasn't finished yet… one final step remained. And with Harry and Pansy in her room, the only place she had left to complete it was right here.</p><p>Somewhat numbly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, squat white candle, the twin of one she had strategically placed in the Hanger. She set it on her lap and looked back at the Marauders' Map.</p><p>Nothing. The area was completely clear.</p><p>Hermione shifted her gaze back to the candle and took out her wand.</p><p>For several moments, she simply stared at the wick, gripping the stick of wood tightly in her hand. Her heart raced at the knowledge of what was to come, but sitting enclosed within four walls and not a single window made it seem distant, somehow - more concept than reality.</p><p>She didn't know if this course of action was right or wrong. All she knew was that such an abhorrent place shouldn't exist, <em>couldn't</em> exist. But it did. And she couldn't stand by and allow the horrific fate she'd just witnessed to befall any other living thing. In a world that had gone insane, this, as mad as it seemed, was the most sane solution Hermione could rationally conceive.</p><p>More tears slipped down her face. This time, she let them, barely noticing the stinging in her eyes. The only thing she saw was Firenze, as he stared up at the stars one last time.</p><p>Had anyone asked earlier, she would have said she didn't believe in spirits in the sense of beings who were no longer ghosts. But at that moment, she felt as if the centaur's presence was still there, waiting with her for the closure she hoped this would provide a countless many beasts who had died within the Hangar's walls.</p><p>"Never again," she promised them fiercely.</p><p>Then she lifted the candle.</p><p>And lit it.</p><hr/><p>They had reversed positions.</p><p>Harry held Pansy now, the both of them sitting on the window seat. He leaned against the wall, while she curled up against his chest, the weight of her body and her breaths moving in sync with his. A part of him still couldn't believe this was happening, that she was still beside him… that he would ever be so fortunate to have someone like her in his life.</p><p>Pansy had always seen him at his despicable weakest — it was how their relationship had sparked in third year, when they'd been assigned as partners for a semester-long Muggle Studies project. Harry was still reeling from the aftermath of his discovery that the father he'd always believed to be a murderer was in fact innocent, and he was still <em>living</em> with the true murderer. Even though Pansy hadn't understood the reason behind his exhaustion and dark moods, she, the timid, Old-Blood Slytherin wallflower, had been the only one to try to offer support, which he'd at first rebuffed vehemently.</p><p>But he had never expected even her inexhaustible concern to hold once she had learned the same dark secret.</p><p>He wrapped his arms around her waist more tightly and leaned his head down, tiredly resting the side of his head against hers and his chin on her shoulder. His eyes drooped shut. Sentimentality was bloody <em>exhausting. </em>How in the blazes did Slytherins like Pansy and Malfoy and surely Granger, if she'd been sorted here, manage to get by day in and day out if they felt even half of what he just had?</p><p>"Harry," she said suddenly, "why didn't you want to tell me?"</p><p>He sighed, and hesitated. "I may have thought you'd… think I was capable of that as well," he admitted tautly.</p><p>"What?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Why on earth would I? You are <em>nothing</em> like her!"</p><p>The words warmed Harry's cold heart, even if they still sent a wave of disbelief through him every time she said something like them. He gave her a small, soft smile. "That you honestly believe that is why I—"</p><p>In the blink of an eye, the darkness outside became as bright as the sun.</p><p>A deafening CRACK! exploded, followed by a thunderous roar.</p><p>In a surge of adrenaline, he dove to the floor with Pansy still in his arms. The windows above them shattered; a shock of hot air blasted over them, sending her hair whipping into his face. The castle beneath them shuddered violently, as though the earth itself was shaking.</p><p>Then all was still.</p><p>Harry's ears rang. His shoulder ached.</p><p>He gasped in a breath. <em>"Christ—"</em></p><p>Pansy was lying partially beneath him. He swiftly hauled himself up and leaned over her. The lights in the room had gone out, and he cupped her face in his hand, trying to search her stunned blue eyes with only a faint, eerie reddish-orange glow for illumination. "Are you hurt?"</p><p>She shook her head. "I'm— alright," she gasped. "What — What was—?"</p><p>He swiftly turned to the open window… in time to see the final remnants of a massive white ball of fire mushroom high into the night sky. The tower of flames cast a hellish red glow over the entire panorama of the grounds. Harry squinted at the source of the raging inferno, directly beside the lake near the south-eastern wall, his heart pounding so hard he thought his ribcage might actually burst. He could hardly make out the skeleton of the… it couldn't possibly be the—</p><p>In the distance, he saw that what only appeared to be bones of the Hangar's once-great structure were violently aflame, plumes of white-orange fire shooting high into the air in a mesmerising dance.</p><p>Not even during the Second Intervention had Harry seen such an enormous explosion, though he didn't doubt the conservatives had.</p><p>He remembered Pansy then and ripped his gaze away from the flames. She was gingerly pushing herself up, trying to avoid touching the shattered glass on the floor around them. Quickly, Harry muttered a repairing spell, and the glass shards reassembled themselves into the window. He took her arm, and they climbed to their feet. She abruptly reached out and took his hand; he grasped it reassuringly, following her wide-eyed gaze out the window.</p><p>"Sweet Merlin," she whispered.</p><p>Harry remembered watching the impressive compound constructed during his first year.</p><p>Now it was utterly decimated.</p><p>It didn't take long for his mind to begin calculating. What would have caused such an explosion? An accident? A deliberate act of sabotage? Certainly not from the conservatives' end; they didn't have the strength to produce something like this. Anyway, there was no chance in hell any Light-loving Old-Blood would ever destroy a building with so many…</p><p>He stiffened.</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>Harry shook the last of the dazed cobwebs from his mind and leaned down, quickly kissing Pansy before he let go of her hand. "I have to go. I'm sorry. Animals were in that building. McGonagall'll need us and the Prefects to do damage control immediately. Bloody first years'll be running amok thinking their favorite jarvey's been vaporized."</p><p>He shoved a hand though his hair, gritting his teeth at the idea of having to wrangle idiotic children who would certainly either be traumatised or bouncing off the walls with glee. On top of that, the Phoenix was going to be all over this; he didn't doubt Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, MLE and the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures were on the scene already.</p><p>Merlin, this was a bloody<em> nightmare.</em></p><p>Halfway to the door, Harry quickly turned back toward Pansy. "My mother will return for this, Liv," he said, only his eyes holding the foreboding he felt. "Tell Malfoy and prepare yourself. I don't know if she'll stop here, but I don't want him in my room if she does. And tell Granger to get her sodding arse down to the Headmistress Office the second she gets—"</p><p>
  <em>Granger.</em>
</p><p>His speech lurched to a stop as an extremely disturbing thought entered his mind.</p><p>Granger had obviously been as devastated as Pansy had been when the conservative movement's beloved blond poster boy had had his feelings hurt that evening.</p><p>Granger had been gone for hours and still wasn't back at the exact same time an explosion had occurred unlike any Hogwarts had seen in the past several centuries.</p><p>Granger was a seasoned war veteran perfectly capable of devising a stunt like this.</p><p>Pansy's gaze shot toward him then, her eyes filled with terror and dread, as if she were thinking the very same thing. "Harry…"</p><p>Suddenly, Malfoy barged into the room. "What just—" He stopped barreling forward and in the same motion took a stumbling step backward, slamming into one of Granger's dressers.</p><p>Even in the darkness of the bedroom, Harry could tell his gaze was transfixed on the fiery scene outside the window.</p><p>Harry glanced toward the explosion once more; the towering flames were shooting many stories higher than the Hangar had been, but now he could barely make out multiple jets of purple and blue contrasting sharply with the transfixing red and orange inferno — the first responder team had already arrived. Ignoring Malfoy's paralysed gawking, he returned his focus to Pansy. "I know what you're thinking, Liv. It isn't. I know it isn't."</p><p>No, this wasn't Granger. Granger refused to do anything more dangerous than pretend to sleep with his former best friend and creep around the castle under an Invisibility Cloak. He had seen the wild apprehension in her eyes when he'd breached the topic of Lucius Malfoy; she absolutely did not have the nerve to follow through on something of this monumental a scale.</p><p>Harry turned back toward the door. If first responders were on the scene, he had lingered here far too long. "Malfoy, stay with Pansy," he commanded. "I don't doubt my mother will be here tonight."</p><p>"Where's Hermione?" Malfoy asked abruptly, looking over at him expectantly.</p><p>Harry cursed. Merlin — what was he, the impossible woman's sodding keeper? How in the blazes was he supposed to know where she chose to go bury her head?</p><p>Something shifted in Malfoy's expression, and he jerked up straight, taking a single, limping step toward Harry. "Evans, where <em>is </em>she?"</p><p>"Do I look like a bloody locator spell to you?" Harry exploded. He fumbled in his pocket for the Marauders' Map and flung it at him. "Have a look; if I'm not standing in the Headmistress's Office in the next five minutes, our entire blasted cover'll be up when the sodding witch suspects <em>I'm</em> involv<em>—"</em></p><p>"I'm here."</p><p>Harry's gaze shot toward the voice.</p><p>Granger stood in the doorway, looking extraordinarily calm. She didn't even blink at the staggering conflagration burning outside the window.</p><p>Harry needed no other evidence.</p><p>At once, he advanced on her. "What did you<em> do?" </em>he snarled.</p><p>Her brow knit, and her eyes narrowed. "I think you'll find I could hardly do much if I've been right here."</p><p><em>That </em>was utter rot if he'd ever smelled it; her cool response and entirely unsurprised reaction blatantly stated otherwise. "Are you out of your mind?" he hissed, stalking directly into her personal space. "Do you think they don't have investigations for this sort of thing? The Sovereignty will find—"</p><p>"Nothing." Granger actually advanced on <em>him</em> then, her eyes blazing. "The Sovereignty will find nothing, because there is nothing to <em>find.</em>" The unexpected force and undaunted intensity that leapt to her gaze jolted him; it was unlike anything he had ever seen from this iteration of My Granger. "Now, earlier you asked me to help you help Draco's father," she said evenly. Her eyes shifted away from him, though her expression remained just as intense. "Consider me in.<em>"</em></p><p>Harry followed her gaze to Malfoy, who was standing stock still a few feet away, wordlessly staring back at her. Harry's eyebrows flew up, and he swiftly looked back at Granger to further analyse whatever this unspoken exchange was between them, but she had already turned away.</p><p>"McGonagall'll have expected us there ages ago." She disappeared from the doorframe, and he could hear her starting down the stairs. "Are we doing this or what?"</p><p>His mouth dropped slightly.</p><p>Christ. If she'd had something like this buried inside her all along… then she might be bloody well formidable after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Watching what is happening in the U.S. right now, this chapter, difficult as it is to read, somehow seems apropos to this moment in time, and standing up to power with action and truth. Sending thoughts of courage and fortitude to all those across the globe currently fighting for human rights, equality, and the health of the natural world.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. The Right Moment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waiting was an awful thing.</p><p>For the past three years, Draco had waited:</p><p>Breathlessly, huddled with his mother in the Unplottable safe room the size of a broom closet (in fact, it could have once <em>been</em> a broom closet) while Agency for Conservative Management and Inspection agents had raided their flat, searching for Tom Riddle.</p><p>Apprehensively, hiding in the Fidelius-protected Mayfair house while word of their plan to escape the country spread to those conservatives who wanted to join.</p><p>Alone, in a dark prison cell patrolled by Dementors in the bowels of the Phoenix, to be sentenced to live or die, after he had witnessed his mother murdered and his friends razed down in front of him.</p><p>Defiantly, for the first curse of hundreds the Weasleys would use on him over the course of his imprisonment, while his Hogwarts' adversary nonchalantly surveyed him from beyond the bars wearing a wicked smirk.</p><p>Desperately, to be temporarily forgotten − for he welcomed the relief that neglect and even starvation would bring over the inexpressible pain and humiliation that followed whenever his presence was noticed.</p><p>Defeatedly, while he was Ordered and dragged from one form of physical and emotional torture to the next, until day and night and curse and poison and slash and burn all blurred together into a searingly anaesthetised shadow of an existence.</p><p>Pleadingly, for a death that simply wouldn't come.</p><p>Draco had thought much of that waiting had come to an end after Hermione had taken control of his incarceration, even if only for however long she remained in My's body. But now, yet again, he was powerless to do anything but wait as the night-time hours crawled by agonisingly slowly, the Hangar fire continued to rage, and neither Hermione nor Evans returned.</p><p>For at least an hour, he and Pansy sat together on the window seat, watching the controlled chaos of the Hangar disaster recovery effort. From the origin and direction of fire suppression spells and sporadic floating headlights, he could tell that what appeared to be dozens of wizards were fighting the conflagration from vehicles, brooms and foot, though the moonless night was too dark, and the Hangar too distant, to discern with any certainty who they were.</p><p>Restlessness eventually spurred Pansy, under the illumination of a torch, to begin to tidy up the fallen books and quills and shelves that the blast's shock wave had flung across the room, and Draco soon stood to help.</p><p>Then he paced, while his old friend drifted off to sleep on the Head Girl's bed — so she'd be able to wake up when Hermione returned and could get an update right away, she explained.</p><p>The last thing Draco could even begin to contemplate doing now was sleep.</p><p>Yes, of course, this was a massive catastrophe, but really — it couldn't possibly take Hermione and Evans this long to comfort and control only three Houses' worth of children, could it? What in Merlin's name could they possibly be doing at 3:32 in the morning? He doubted McGonagall would let them assist in the firefighting efforts… especially not Hermione acting with My's capabilities. What if —</p><p>For a moment, he stopped walking, dread gripping his chest.</p><p>What if they too were being interrogated?</p><p>Surely the castle was crawling with Sovereignty agents from the Ministry of Magical Investigation and Incident Response, not to mention the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement. What if not only Hermione's true identity had been found out… but also the deed she'd just done?</p><p>He had known that the explosion had sprung from her hand from the moment he saw her appear in the doorway, her face as drawn and determined as an avenging angel, her brown eyes at once haunted and hard. While her grit may have astonished Evans (and the Elite's shock at being put in his place was well overdue, in Draco's opinion), Draco knew very well what Hermione was capable of when she was pushed to the edge.</p><p>What he didn't know was <em>why.</em></p><p>Yesterday, she hadn't even wanted to help his - his <em>father. </em>For a moment, Draco shook his head; that the man immortalised only in a handful of hazy memories was actually alive still seemed impossible to him. He more than understood, though reluctantly, why Hermione would be hesitant to stick her neck out in this world — Merlin, she'd already done so much, despite the great risk to her own person, and how desperately she missed her home.</p><p>But, in the few hours between the time he'd overheard the end of her and Evans' conversation and the blast that had thrown him to the floor, something had changed significantly.</p><p>Undoubtedly, Hermione had carefully weighed the risk of detection that visibly destroying a Hogwarts building would bring. If, even then, she'd still embarked upon that drastic course of action — and was willing to go even further, with his father — Merlin's breath, what must she have seen or learned or decided in that short time that was driving her to go all in now?</p><p>Whatever it was, it simultaneously electrified and terrified him.</p><p>He'd long since laid Evans' Marauder's Map on Hermione's desk. It could have answered at least some his questions of <em>where</em> and <em>with whom,</em> but in its current, blank form, it was was useless to him. Draco didn't have the magic to open it, and Evans had evidently forgotten.</p><p>His attention was again drawn to the window. The shooting flames were slowly being smothered down to glowing embers, while in the courtyard beside the greenhouse, some sort of incident command centre seemed to have been established. The grassy rectangular expanse was brightly lit with artificial lights, and what appeared to be dozens of small figures swarmed around newly erected tables.</p><p>Another burst of anxiety ripped through Draco's gut.</p><p>He didn't know why some part of him still clung to the hope that something better might come. This situation, as it was, was one they didn't have the slightest chance of even escaping, let alone fighting with some conceivable force. He believed in Hermione, in all her brilliance and strength and tenacity, but he had also watched as Dumbledore's army crushed even the most powerful Light witches and wizards.</p><p>He turned away from the window and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, fighting to breathe.</p><p>The Phoenix's numbers were too great. Dumbledore's power was too vast. With the development of the Wizard bond, the entirety of the conservative population now possessed less magic than a single Squib.</p><p>And if something went wrong — and a dizzyingly many things could — Draco couldn't bear to see <em>her</em> life crushed, too.</p><p>At once, he wanted to grab the bloody Map and shake it and demand that it open for him or he would tear it to shreds. He wanted to rip open the portrait hole and race down to the small prison Pansy had explained had housed his father for over a decade to see for himself that it was true — that even a small piece of his mother in the form of the man she had loved so deeply and spoken of so fondly hadn't vanished entirely from the earth.</p><p>But Draco couldn't do any of those things.</p><p>So all he could do was wait. And pace.</p><p>When his right leg began to ache, he collapsed back on the window seat and dully watched the ongoing action in the courtyard. Before his exhausted eyes, the distant motion far below blended together into a swirl of colours, passing unregistered before his weary gaze… until he saw a flash of red in the midst of moving people.</p><p>Draco started so violently his head almost hit the glass pane.</p><p>The figure was small, but in the bright spotlights, he could just make out the magnificent golden Phoenix, its wings spread wide, stretched across the back of blood red Viceroy robes. From the way the others had stopped rushing to and fro and had formed up into two organized lines on either side of him, he knew without any shadow of a doubt he was looking at Arthur Weasley.</p><p>Instinctively, Draco leapt to his feet and took several rapid steps away from the window, nearly falling over Hermione's desk chair in the darkness of the room.</p><p>Despite his very best attempt to keep his mind from going there, nearly instantly, a memory flashed through his head and consumed his senses: of being slumped, gasping for air, on the stone floor of an equally shadowed room soon after he'd been delivered to what was now the Weasley Manor, the same man's voice reverberating in his head.</p><p>
  <em>"You're going about this wrong, son. This sludge and his kin have been as resilient as weeds. Their bloodline has spread their archaic, Light-loving beliefs through Old-Bloods since I was a boy, until most of our kind had little hope to ever stand equal with Muggle-borns. This one requires… special treatment. Physical curses will tire him out, but they'll also make him defiant. You've got to break his mind until he can no longer retreat there. You've got to break his soul until he can seek no solace from it—"</em>
</p><p>Draco ripped himself back to the present before he became lost in the vivid sensations of what he knew came next. He realized his hands were shaking, and he clenched them tightly, forcing himself to breathe. The blackness around him was suffocating, hiding monsters he could not categorise nor repel, and he quickly exited the room, plodding heavily down the stairs to the dim, but lit, common room.</p><p>The clock atop the fireplace mantle indicated it was 5:27 a.m.</p><p>Another horrifying thought struck him.</p><p>No doubt Arthur Weasley was still furious that Hermione had used his son to obtain Draco. What if the two had crossed paths?</p><p>Draco again wanted to bolt into the hallway, look for her,<em> find</em> her… <em>but he couldn't get past the bloody portrait.</em></p><p>He sank down on the sofa and buried his face in his clammy hands, every nerve in his body quivering, his stomach in knots. If she and Evans didn't return soon, he would surely go mad…</p><p>At that moment, the portrait hole creaked open and then slammed shut.</p><p>Draco jumped to his feet, dizzily clenching the sofa's armrest for balance when his exhausted body immediately protested. His relief was short-lived. Only Evans trudged inside, looking as weary as Draco felt. The son of the First Viceroy wore an expression of perfect vexation, his wand grasped in his hand.</p><p>He stopped walking when his thoroughly irate gaze landed on Draco. "Why in the blazes are you still awake?" he growled forcefully.</p><p>Draco could literally feel the anger radiating off him.</p><p>Panic flooded him. He stumbled backward, but the sofa blocked his retreat; instinctively, he braced himself for the barrage of curses that would surely soon fall…</p><p>Until he suddenly realized what he was doing.</p><p>For a moment, Draco closed his eyes.</p><p>
  <em>For the love of all things good…</em>
</p><p>He cursed his automatic, traumatized response to the same circumstantial conditions that had, even a week earlier, been the trigger for so many bouts of torture. He bloody well needed to <em>pull himself together. </em>He couldn't simply wilt every time anyone capable of inflicting pain so much as glared his way — not anymore.</p><p>Clenching his jaw, Draco sucked in several breaths in quick succession, straightened, and lifted his head. "An update, Evans," he said just as forcefully, stiffening when he noticed Evans' exasperated expression now held the faintest edge of amusement. "I need to know what's happening."</p><p>Evans' humoured gaze turned icy. "Don't ever order me, <em>Malfoy," </em>he spat, twisting Draco's surname as if it belonged to the foulest insect imaginable. "You'll get an update when I'm ready to give you an update."</p><p>He resumed his path toward the stairway to his room.</p><p>Draco let out a frustrated breath. "We're on the same side, Evans," he called tiredly, rubbing his pounding forehead to alleviate the headache that certainly accompanied the fact that he'd slept perhaps two good hours in as many days. "Or have you forgotten already?"</p><p>"What is it with you people?" Evans exclaimed, spinning toward him. "Have the whole lot of <em>you</em> forgotten I couldn't give a hippogriff's arse about your personal problems no matter which side I'm on? They're officially ruling it an accident, and that won't change no matter what the Investigation Ministry finds. There - satisfied?"</p><p>Draco tensed. "They… suspect it was something else, then?" he asked cautiously.</p><p>Evans studied him for a moment before he began to climb the stairs to his room. "Nothing's been stated outright. But from my mother's unnaturally pleased expression given this entire situation and Weasley's excessively shirty one, I'd say it's someone neither of us have to worry about."</p><p>It took Draco's tired mind a second to process that cryptic response; when he did, he blinked in surprise. "They think it was a <em>Weasley?"</em></p><p>Evans ignored him and kept climbing.</p><p>"Which one?"</p><p>"Use your brain to make your own deduction!" the Gryffindor snapped, yanking open his door. "Right now I don't know and I don't bloody well care, and if you ask me another blasted question, so help me god, I'll silence you myself!"</p><p>Draco clenched his hands, the threat ringing in his ears. Every instinct screamed at him to remain silent, but he couldn't, not yet. "Is Her—"</p><p>"Yes, Malfoy, she's <em>coming!" </em>Evans interrupted caustically, already halfway in his room. "Merlin's ghost. I realize she's dug you out of an unpleasant situation, but Christ, get another hobby. I'm fairly certain this version of My Granger is about as interested in you as the last one was — which, in case you need a translation, means <em>not at all."</em></p><p>His door slammed shut.</p><p>Draco flinched.</p><p>The common room returned to a state of deafening silence.</p><p>For a moment, he could only stare ahead at nothing at all. Then he took a small breath, nodded stiffly, and dragged himself back to his partially partitioned room, his leg aching. He gripped the edge of the mattress as he sat on the bed, leaning forward on his palms, and gazed blankly at the ground.</p><p>Eventually, he smiled limply. He could always count on Evans to be abrasively honest. Even if the wanker had no blessed idea what he was talking about, not this time, it didn't make what he'd said any less true… nor did it cause the truth to hurt Draco any less.</p><p>What really mattered, he reasoned, was that she didn't know. She couldn't possibly know — he was the only person alive who did, though he sometimes wondered if Peia had read it from him as well. The very idea of what would happen if she found out caused his heart to race, his palms to sweat. Sweet Salazar, she would never —</p><p>"Hi."</p><p>Draco looked up quickly. Hermione stood at the door-like opening in the wall she'd constructed, her hair thrown up in a thick bun from which many wisps had escaped. Instantly, a mix of profound relief and sudden trepidation rushed over him. He swiftly shuttered away his earlier thoughts and steeled himself to hold her gaze, indescribably grateful she didn't share Peia's gift of insight.</p><p>"Hi," he echoed dumbly, even though what he really wanted to do was to ask how she was, if she had run into Arthur Weasley, if there was anything he could do to help her, as unlikely as that might be.</p><p>She simply stared at him wordlessly, her gaze lifeless. For a split second, such fear paralysed him that she somehow<em> knew,</em> but then she crossed the floor of the makeshift room and thrust a bottle the size of a large flask into his hand, effectively curtailing his concerns. "Here. This is for you."</p><p>Draco slumped in relief. Taking a small breath, he squinted down at the dark bottle, heavy with liquid, but it was unmarked. "What's—?"</p><p>"Dreamless Sleep Potion," she explained flatly. Her voice was gravelly, as if she was either exhausted or had been speaking for hours. Or both. "One dose is four capfuls. Try administering only two to start. I should be able to get it refilled if you need more, but I think you should eventually transition to a more traditional sleeping draught, if you can. DSP's highly addictive, as I'm sure you know."</p><p>He did, but at that moment he was more than happy to risk addiction if it meant he could actually fall asleep without the nightmares and the pain. He closed his hand gratefully around the bottle, wondering how she'd known. Now that she was closer, he could see in the dim light of the common room that her face was pale and tired.</p><p>"Hermione, I cannot express how deeply appreciative I am for the opportunity to enter the blissful realm of DSP junkie-hood, honestly," he said, only partially joking. "But you could have waited until tomorrow to get this, you know."</p><p>Draco had hoped his quip would have at least elicited even the weakest of smiles from her, but she only continued to stare at him, stone-faced. "No, I couldn't've," she said mechanically. "It's the least I could do, after…"</p><p>She crossed her arms and looked away from him, her shoulders tense. Draco knew immediately what she meant, and he hated to think it was weighing on her when she had so much else to deal with.</p><p>"I understand, you know," he said quietly. "Why you didn't say anything about my… father." The word still sounded as alien to say as it was to hear.</p><p>Hermione looked back at him, her motions oddly mechanical, her eyes glazed with fatigue. "There's nothing to understand," she said dully. "I should have told you and I didn't. That was wrong. I'm sorry, Draco."</p><p>Draco shook his head with a small sigh. "Telling me about it any sooner would have done me no favours. Especially not before you... before my custody was shifted to you." His gaze dropped to his knees. "Knowing everything there was to know about that situation when I was still trapped with the Weasleys would have only been another form of torture."</p><p>Hermione stared at him for a moment, her eyes still startlingly blank, then shook her head. "No. You give me far too much credit; you have from the moment we met. You deserved to know. It wasn't my place to decide anything otherwise." Her voice was still as hollow and monotonous as it had been when she entered, and Draco focused up on her expressionless face in realization as she went on tonelessly, "I should have known you'd have trouble sleeping too. But I didn't. Instead I was so wrapped up in my own—"</p><p>"Hermione," he interrupted quickly, standing up. "Hermione, you need to sleep."</p><p>She recoiled, taking a visibly unsteady step backward. "I can't," she said tightly. "I still have things I need to do."</p><p>"Name one thing you have to do that cannot wait six hours," he countered. "I can't imagine they're making you attend classes tomorrow."</p><p>"They aren't. But we're reconvening with McGonagall for a school-wide assembly at noon." With one hand, Hermione rubbed her temple, opening her eyes unnaturally wide, as if that was the only way she could keep them from falling shut. "At least two Sovereign ministers will be in attendance. There'll undoubtedly be plenty of questions I won't know how to answer unless I do a bit more research."</p><p>Draco's eyebrows flew up in disbelief. "Hermione, listen to yourself!" he exclaimed. "You can't walk into something like that after being awake as long as you have and expect it to go well! My wouldn't know how to answer a single damn thing, so don't think you have to, either."</p><p>He stepped toward her, though to do what, he wasn't sure. He stopped walking just as quickly when she took another step away from him, something twisting in his chest.</p><p>"Listen," he said quietly, keeping his voice as calm and even as one talking down a hippogriff, "I don't know what's happened, and your almost superhuman ability to push through it is extremely admirable. But if you drive yourself into the ground, you'll do no one here any good, starting with yourself."</p><p>Hermione looked back at him quickly. Fiery emotion suddenly had sprung back to her eyes, and though it certainly wasn't happy, it was better than no feeling at all. "I think I know how to handle myself, Draco," she snapped forcefully.</p><p>"I've never doubted that," he said honestly. "But your right eye is <em>drooping, </em>Hermione. No, I don't expect that'll help it," he said flatly when she blinked rapidly, rubbed her right eye, and again put both hands to her temples. "If I can notice it in this lighting, I guarantee it'll be even more obvious in daylight tomorrow. No doubt it'll help keep the attention on your face and off your words, but I'm not entirely certain that's the type of impression you'd like to give."</p><p>She glared at him. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. Really," she bit out. "Take the potion or not; it's your choice. I'm leaving."</p><p>"Hermione, don't do this to yourself. Whatever it is, it isn't worth it," he said desperately as she turned away from him. She actually swayed when she did, her hand flashing out to the grasp the side of the wall. Before Draco realized what what he was doing, he grabbed her arm. <em>"Hermione!"</em></p><p>She ripped her hand from his and spun back toward him, her eyes wild. "I don't <em>want</em> to fall asleep, don't you get it?"</p><p>Draco stared at her, his heart pounding painfully hard.</p><p>After a moment, she averted her frantic gaze, breathing rapidly.</p><p>He didn't move, afraid she'd only bolt if he did. He held his breath and waited non-threateningly, silently pleading with her to again open up to him again… to realize she didn't have to do this alone.</p><p>His shoulders sank in relief when she whispered, "If I - If I close my eyes, I see… them."</p><p>Draco looked at her tense form quickly. "Who?" he asked softly, slowly pulling the hand she'd flung away back to his side.</p><p>Hermione briefly closed her eyes and didn't respond; when she opened them again, they were shining with tears.</p><p>"Does this by any chance have to do with what happened tonight?" he pressed tentatively.</p><p>She hesitated, then wrapped her arms around herself and nodded once, staring at the wall.</p><p>The palpable sorrow that suddenly radiated from her very being penetrated Draco's chest like the emotion was his own. For a moment, he could only study her exhausted frame, trying to decide what to do — what <em>she</em> needed him to do. He already knew what <em>he</em> wanted to do: take her into his arms and tell her that everything would be alright and try to make her laugh until the light returned to her eyes. But he couldn't. Hermione hadn't asked that of him, couldn't possibly want that from him, and if Draco had learned one thing in his eighteen short years of life, it was that people couldn't help who they chose to love… or not love.</p><p>But that didn't mean he couldn't be the friend she so clearly needed now.</p><p>Draco took a small breath to gather his nerve, then stepped toward her cautiously.</p><p>She stiffened at his approach, watching with wary eyes. Hesitantly, he reached toward her hand and gently wrapped his fingers around her limp ones. She looked back up at him swiftly but didn't pull away.</p><p>He swallowed hard.</p><p>"Come sit down," he coaxed, nodding toward the only piece of sofa-like furniture the small 'room' possessed: his bed. "Just for a few minutes." Her expression became reluctant, and he added quickly, "You can leave whenever you like. You and I both know there's very little I can do to stop you when you've made up your mind."</p><p>She shook her head. "You've barely slept; you need—"</p><p>"I don't. I have laid half-conscious on the ground for more time in my life than I'd ever care to recollect. I'd much rather be awake right now with you," he said.</p><p>"Draco—"</p><p>"Hermione, please." With his other hand, Draco unthinkingly reached up to cup her slender cheek, gazing into her drained eyes in concern. Then he realized in horror what he was doing and swiftly retracted his hand, his stomach flopping anxiously. More emotion, though startled, crossed her face, and he averted his gaze quickly.</p><p>"I - I know when most people say, "I know what it's like," it's just their way of providing comfort. They don't actually understand what you're going through," he hurriedly continued, forcing himself to properly breathe. "But Hermione… I really do know what it's like to be unable to close your eyes without seeing the faces of those who've departed, and deeds, so many dark, horrific deeds…"</p><p>He shut his eyes briefly despite his words, shaking his head. "Before, you asked me to trust you, and I have. I've… I've have had to place more trust in you over the past month than I have in anyone else I've ever known." He refocused on her face earnestly. "And now I'm asking the same of you. <em>Please,</em> Hermione. Please trust me."</p><p>Her guarded eyes stared at him expressionlessly, as indecipherable and incomprehensible as the world from which she'd come. Draco held his breath as the seconds stretched on, his heart pounding, and offered a silent plea to any god who may not have abandoned him entirely that she'd agree.</p><p>Finally, her fingers tightened slightly around his, and she nodded silently.</p><p>Draco let out a grateful breath and gave her the smallest of reassuring smiles. "Alright."</p><p>Hermione followed him back to his bed, still holding his hand. He sat first, reclining against the wall, and hesitantly held out his arm, indicating she could rest against him if she wanted to. His stomach descended into a bundle of nerves while she silently considered him, but then she slowly sank down on the mattress and stiffly leaned into his side. The moment they connected, he actually felt a shiver run through her.</p><p>Draco froze immediately, cringing internally. Was he really so awful she couldn't even bear prolonged contact with him? "Sorry… I've been told before my body's as cold as my heart," he said, trying to make light of it.</p><p>Hermione shook her head. "That isn't… Whoever it was must have thought quite highly of you, then."</p><p>He frowned and looked over at her. "What makes you say that?"</p><p>Her expression mirrored his. "Well, you… you aren't cold at all."</p><p>Draco tightened the icy fingers of his left hand in confusion, but something in her voice reassured him. Taking a small breath, he tentatively wrapped his arm around her shoulders like he sometimes did Pansy… except Hermione wasn't Pansy at all.</p><p>"This is alright, isn't it?" he asked uncertainly.</p><p>Hermione glanced at him for a moment, then looked back ahead. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, it is." He felt her slowly relax against him, her back melding into his side. "It's just… It's all so vivid. I just can't get this… this image I have out of my head," she whispered, a haunted gleam in her eyes.</p><p>"The animals?" Draco wondered aloud. He couldn't imagine what else she might have encountered in the Hangar.</p><p>"No. They escaped." Sudden strength sprung to her tired voice. "They all escaped, except for the…" She tensed again. "Except for the ones who were already dead."</p><p>Draco himself felt sick. He squeezed her shoulders reassuringly as she continued, "I know it's just happened and it'll all wear off eventually, but that doesn't help me right now." She scrubbed at her eyes, her hands muffling her words. "Merlin, I'm so tired, Draco, I'm so bloody tired, but I can't stop thinking about it, about all of this. How am I supposed to get through tomorrow without sleep?"</p><p>He glanced down at the bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion laying near his pillow, then reached over to pick it up. "You're welcome to share this, you know. They say two addicts are better than one."</p><p>Hermione glanced toward it briefly. "Not if I want to be awake in time for the assembly," she said, her voice still thick with her need for rest. Then she smiled weakly. "'They' say that, do they? I see what you're trying to do, drag me down to your level. Aren't you considerate."</p><p>A faint smile burst across his face. "It has been rather lonely down here by myself." His smile disappeared when her head drooped slightly against his shoulder, some escaped locks of her long, golden brown hair tickling his neck. His heart skipped a beat, or perhaps five, and he forced himself to focus on doing, not on feeling.</p><p>"Will you… Will you do something for me?" he asked tentatively. What she'd said about being unable to get the disturbing image from her mind had given him an idea.</p><p>"What?" she murmured, staring blankly at the wall in front of them.</p><p>Draco hesitated. "Close your eyes."</p><p>Hermione sat up and looked at him warningly. "Draco—"</p><p>"Hermione, please. Close. Your. Eyes," he repeated softly.</p><p>She looked at him for a long moment before she indulged him, though with visible reluctance.</p><p>"I'm going to describe an image to you," he said, dearly hoping this would help make things better and not worse. "I'd be much obliged if you could try to picture it."</p><p>She frowned. "I'm not very good at—"</p><p>"You don't. You don't have to be brilliant at it," he said quickly. "You just have to try. Will you?"</p><p>She hesitated, then let out a heavy breath and nodded.</p><p>Draco nervously nodded as well and took a small breath. "Right. In your mind, it's a… a beautiful August day, the warmest yet of the summer," he said quietly, in the same low, soothing tone he'd used years ago to conclude Peia's bedtime stories as she was drifting off to sleep. "You're on the beach. The sand is golden. It's stretching down and curving away from you into a cloudless sky as far as the eye can see. You already discovered how frigid the water is, but now you're back on the dunes with your family, watching the waves."</p><p>He felt her tense slightly, but he continued, "Your father offered you a worn green quilt your grandmum made that's so horrendously ugly your family only uses it as a mat outdoors, but you turned it down; you'd rather lay right on the sand. You're devouring a tin of Bourbon biscuits that your mum brought, even though she usually frowns on sweets, because she knows you love them more than any other-"</p><p>A single tear slid down Hermione's cheek. Draco stopped speaking abruptly, his heart pounding in dread, but she reached up and swiped at it quickly without a single word, leaning heavily against him.</p><p>When she didn't tell him to stop, he uncertainly went on in a voice hardly above a murmur, "The sun's just begun setting. The sky's started turning shades of orange and pink. You close your eyes and can feel it, the sun's warmth, the breeze blowing through your hair, the - the presence of your parents, right beside you. It's calming. Peaceful. You can just hear the whisper of dune grass behind you over the sound of the ocean. The water keeps crashing on the beach before it rushes back out to sea, back and forth, back and forth... "</p><p>The full weight of her head settled heavily against the side of his shoulder. This seemed encouraging, and he said cajolingly, "You start to feel extremely tired. The heat of the sun keeping you warm... The waves flowing in and out… in and out…"</p><p>Draco paused to a silence only broken by her calm, even breaths, her eyes still closed. The part of him that had felt <em>so incredibly awkward</em> while he was speaking was unable to believe it had actually worked. For a moment, he wondered if she'd fallen asleep completely, though in that short a span of time, he doubted she had.</p><p>"Sleep here," he whispered softly. "Just for a little while." Pansy had already taken her bed in the Head Girl suite, and Draco was afraid rousing Hermione enough to walk to any other location would simply send her back to the waking nightmare from which she seemed to have momentarily been able to escape.</p><p>"What about you?" Hermione breathed faintly, without opening her eyes.</p><p>"There are plenty of other places I can sleep if I want to," he reassured her in a low voice.</p><p>She didn't respond for several seconds. "Swear you will," she mumbled.</p><p>He smiled tenderly for the briefest of moments. "You have my word."</p><p>After a minute, she nodded sluggishly.</p><p>Carefully, Draco untangled his arm from hers and shifted toward the head of the bed, supporting Hermione while she lowered herself onto her side. As she stretched out along the mattress, tugging her hair from its bun, he moved to the edge of the bed with the bottle of DSP, sliding one end of the blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed upward. She took it from him and pulled it over her shoulders.</p><p>After a moment's indecision, he sat down on the floor halfway down the bed, resting his back against the bed frame.</p><p>Hermione's eyes cracked open slightly. "You don't have to… stay," she said dully, her voice devoid of emotion.</p><p>Draco looked toward her. "What would be the point in that? I offered my bed; I'm a gentleman. I'll at least make sure you fall asleep in it safely."</p><p>A faint smile tugged at her lips, but it quickly faded.</p><p>His slowly recovering self-confidence faltered. "Unless you'd… rather I left?"</p><p>Hermione looked at him for a moment, then shook her head. She stretched out her wand, mumbling a spell. An alarm clock appeared next to the pillow, presumably set with the time she needed to awaken. Then she closed her eyes, the drawn muscles of her face slowly relaxing.</p><p>Once Draco was certain she was nearly or already asleep, he tugged his legs up to his chest, manually moving the right with his hands, and buried his face in his knees, trying to reign in the sheer amount of bubbling emotions that being so <em>near</em> her like this was conjuring inside him. Emotions — both his, and sensing others' — had always been an integral part of Draco's existence, but during his imprisonment, he'd become much better at numbing and even ceasing his almost intuitive responses to others. At times, though, he simply couldn't… and, more often than not, those times involved her.</p><p>"Draco…" Hermione suddenly whispered drowsily, causing him to jerk violently in surprise. "How are you still so good?"</p><p>Draco quickly sat up straight and looked back over at her. The left side of her head was still buried in his pillow, her hair tumbling wildly around her face, but her eyes were again open slightly. "After everything that's been done to you, after everything you've seen… How can you not have let it… affect you?"</p><p>He smiled mirthlessly. "It does affect me," he said quietly, though even that low volume sounded loud in the silent common room. He placed his hand on the DSP bottle laying next to him. "It's why I need this."</p><p>She blinked. "I didn't mean…"</p><p>"I know." And he did. But he'd never planned to reveal the words he held most sacred to anyone… and, if he ever did, he would have never imagined it would be to <em>her.</em></p><p>Draco took a small breath, stalling for another moment, before he resolved himself to go on. "When I was thirteen, the small freedoms we Old-Bloods still had suddenly started to be taken away. At Hogwarts, anyone unwilling to perform a series of what I can only describe as unspeakably horrific Dark Arts curses - in other words, most Old-Bloods - were banned from playing Quidditch, and ACMI — the Agency for Conservative Management and Inspection — had created their own version of the Inquisition."</p><p>He smiled limply. "In my naiveté, the former seemed much more devastating at the time, but in reality, the latter was far worse. People we knew simply began to disappear. They- They forced everyone to move to these... conservative villages, they called them. Flashy name for ghettos, really. Our access to resources was incredibly controlled there. My mother was blocked from applying to any wizarding jobs and had to try to find work in the Muggle world, but she was eventually barred from even passing between the two."</p><p>"That's so… neanderthal and disgusting," Hermione said angrily, though the weary torpidity to her voice significantly lessened the ferocity of her words. "Everyone in the… Sovereignty couldn't have… possibly agreed…"</p><p>"Many did," he said quietly. "Even some conservatives thought it was better we go along with it rather than fight and lose the only thing we did still have - our lives." He focused his gaze on the wall across from them. "That was when my… mum made me give her my word," he said. "That I would never give up. That I'd never forget the only power that exists is what I feel about myself and the ones I love, not that which others hold over me. That I…"</p><p>He hesitated. It felt strange to say aloud the words he had mentally repeated over and over to himself during his hellish imprisonment.</p><p>"That you'd... what?" Hermione breathed, her voice thick with sleep.</p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut, his mother's loving voice echoing in his mind. "That I would never let anyone crush my spirit." His lips stretched upward sadly. "Or my smile."</p><p>Silence met his words.</p><p>After a moment, Draco apprehensively looked back at her, afraid she had found the simple words more childish than profound. But Hermione's searching gaze immediately met his, and the sudden intensity in her eyes was staggering.</p><p>Draco's chest constricted, and he had to force himself to breathe. "I'm not… infallible, Hermione," he managed to piece together. "I try to keep my promise to her, every single day, but…" He shook his head. "It's like I told you before. Sometimes I… I just can't."</p><p>Her eyes suddenly began to shine with tears. She shifted her gaze away from him. "I wish I had something like that I could… hold myself to," she said softly. Her fingers suddenly gripped the pillow. "In my world, it was Harry. I believed in him, that he - and<em> we </em>- could succeed no matter how difficult or seemingly impossible the deed was that needed to be done. But here… I'm at a loss, Draco. I know exactly what I have to do now… but I don't know what to believe in."</p><p>Draco didn't even need a minute to think of a response, and he gingerly twisted onto his knees and shifted nearer to her, placing a hand on the side of the bed. "You don't need to believe in anyone else. Believe in <em>yourself.</em> Believe in the light inside you that's guided you this far. Look at everything you've done, Hermione. That wasn't just Harry. That was <em>you."</em></p><p>"You're wonderfully optimistic, Draco," she whispered, causing his heart to clench. "I may be… brilliant at many things, but I don't have that ability… not like you do. I'll fight, but I've lived through this before. Once it all begins, I can't… It becomes very difficult for me to see the light in the midst of so much darkness."</p><p>He didn't entirely understand what she meant when she said she would fight, but he felt at long last the fire of purpose and determination kindle within him. "I'll help you," he said. He reached over and took her hand. "Whatever it is. Whatever you need. If you - If you need me to remind you how to laugh, how to feel, how incredible —" his breath hitched and his mouth went dry, and he quickly amended, "—how incredibly powerful you are, how to do anything at all… I <em>will."</em></p><p>Hermione's exhausted eyes held his, again shining with unshed tears. She didn't speak, and Draco was suddenly afraid that his fervent offer had either revealed far too much or was deeply unwanted. Hastily, he pulled his hand back, staring at it rather than at her. "If you'd… like me to, anyway," he mumbled awkwardly.</p><p>She blinked rapidly and brushed at her eyes. "Yes, I'd - I'd appreciate that very much." He looked back up at her quickly as she added vehemently, "And I'll do the same for you."</p><p>For a moment, he was caught in the burning resolve of her gaze. Then something inside him lurched in reminder that he had to respond. He smiled gratefully. "Ms. Granger, I do believe you have yourself a deal," he said lightly, trying desperately to stifle the intensity of the feelings raging inside him. He held out his hand. "Shall we shake on it?"</p><p>Slowly, Hermione released her pillow and shook his hand firmly. "Deal," she whispered, tremulously returning his smile.</p><p>Draco ached to reach out and brush away the loose lock of hair that swept partially into her face, and he resisted the powerful urge with the entirety of being. He hastily moved back to a sitting position, wrapping his arms around his legs and clenching his elbows tightly instead. Once he'd regained some semblance of composure, he smiled gently over at her. "Dream of the ocean, Hermione. And sleep well."</p><p>The smallest of sad smiles touched her lips. "You as well, Draco. You… promised you would," she said, her tone stern even though her volume was waning. Her eyes drifted shut. "How long has… she been gone?" she mumbled.</p><p>Draco knew immediately who she meant. He closed his eyes, his grasp around his knees tightening. "About… two years now," he said mechanically. "It happened when we were… trying to escape to the continent."</p><p>"I'm… so sorry, Draco," she breathed drowsily, the pillow partially muffling her fading voice.</p><p>He shook his head, staring limply ahead at the partition Hermione had set up between the space that had been deemed his and the rest of the common room. "You've… nothing to be sorry for. I'm only sorry that you won't have the chance to know her."</p><p>"I will if you…" Hermione yawned hugely, "…tell me about her. What she was… like."</p><p>"She was…" Draco couldn't help but smile slightly. "She was the most incredible person you'll ever meet."</p><p>He hesitated, unable to decide where to even begin. He hadn't spoken of his mother to anyone, not willingly, since…</p><p>The realisation struck straight through his chest.</p><p>Not since she had died.</p><p>"She loved life so <em>much," </em>he finally said. "Through everything that happened to us, she had a sort of beautiful, understated elegance that she never lost, no matter how the Sovereignty treated her. And she-" He swallowed hard; surely she must think he was rambling. "Are you certain this is… something you'd like to hear?"</p><p>"Mm-hm," Hermione murmured in agreement.</p><p>At times like these, Draco wondered if this was all still a dream, but he nodded, as precious memories he had locked inside himself for so long suddenly began to spill from his lips. "Everyone — The conservatives, I mean — They all looked up to her. She spent so much of her time helping the elders adjust, especially. They remembered what life was like before everything became so unbalanced, so they had a particularly difficult time living with the worst of the discrimination."</p><p>Draco sighed, then chuckled softly. "I remember once, she threw a surprise party for Bathilda Bagshot's 115th birthday. She was Gellert Grindelwald's great-aunt, you know... Mum told me Bathilda was never the same after he was killed. The Sovereignty ostracized her terribly. Our flat was small, but we used an Undetectable Extension Charm so we could invite everyone she knew, and I mean <em>everyone.</em> Being over a century old, she was on speaking terms with practically every Old-Blood from here to Eastern Europe.</p><p>"We didn't have-" he bit his lip, hedging the most diplomatic description, "-the most money, but Mum spent her entire month's paycheck on decorations and this magnificent cake that would feed an army. When Bathilda walked in, Mum conjured her a birthday crown, and for the entire day everyone treated her not like she was invisible or a cancer on society, but like - she was <em>worth</em> something. Like <em>she</em> was royalty. Some of the people there she hadn't seen for over fifty years, even."</p><p>He shook his head, smiling. "I have never seen that woman so happy. After the party was over, she told Mum and me it was the closest she had ever felt to the life she had loved so dearly before Dumbledore came to power, and everything changed."</p><p>He looked down at his hands and again sighed deeply, lost in memories that for once were positive, rather than the opposite. "My mother would have been so glad you and I… met, you know."</p><p>Only silence met his words.</p><p>Tentatively, he looked over at Hermione.</p><p>But she had finally fallen asleep.</p><hr/><p>The President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, Saundra Davis, was caught between a rock and a hard place.</p><p>Beside her, the ambassador to Hungary prattled on about the ethicality of holding the next Quidditch World Cup in England. It must have nearly been midnight, most parties in attendance at the State Gala in NYC's Woolworth Building had already said their farewells, and Saundra would much rather retreat to her office with a glass of bourbon than discuss her political philosophy for dealing with the British Sovereignty with Ambassador Lakatos - or was it Lokatas? She could never remember.</p><p>The United States and Hungary had just returned to speaking terms after a nasty disagreement over human rights allegations that had been levelled at the Sovereignty during the International Confederation of Wizards summit in Amsterdam two years earlier. She wouldn't put it past Latacos to interpret even a pleasant extrication from the conversation as hostile and dismissive. Which it absolutely was.</p><p>Speaking of tacos, Saundra dearly wished she'd been able to sneak in more than a single deviled egg at this damn affair before being assaulted by hordes of dignitaries. She looked longingly toward the pair of double doors that led from the ballroom, only feet away...</p><p>Suddenly, the President felt a hand on the small of her back. "Excuse me, Ambassador Lakatos, I hope you don't mind if I steal my wife." It took Saundra all she had not to look over at her husband Scott in pleasant surprise as he continued, "I've just returned from overseas, you see — it's been far too long since I've spent any time with her."</p><p>Scott was usually not this perceptive.</p><p>The short Eastern European diplomat blinked eyes as beady as a Wampus Cat at them, then nodded, looking distinctly annoyed. "Of course, Madam President. As always, it has been a pleasure. I am so glad our two countries are again able to discuss these topics so civilly."</p><p>"Oh, as am I," she said saccharinely, shaking his hand before following Scott from the ballroom. "Your timing is impeccable," she muttered as soon as they entered the hallway.</p><p>"You looked like you needed some help. And a drink."</p><p>"You have no idea." She took the wine glass he offered her and downed it immediately.</p><p>Her old friend and Chief of Staff Cassandra Rockwell fell in step alongside them, wearing a pearl white dress. "Madam President; sir. Calling it a night?"</p><p>Saundra nodded at her. "Yes, thank god. Did you see Locavore? That man's a leech; he was just waiting for me to say something Prime Minister Halasz could fling in our face."</p><p>"I was actually hoping to talk to you about that for a moment, ma'am." Cassandra gestured to her right, and Saundra noticed they'd stopped outside her office door.</p><p>Scott looked between them, then took a step back. "I'll meet you upstairs, honey."</p><p>Saundra watched him as he began to walk away. He may have lost the last of his hair a few years earlier, but in her view, the man still looked good in a suit and robes. "No, stay." She took his arm. "This will only take a minute." Her shoulders ached, and she shifted uncomfortably in the the extravagant green and blue gown with the extended train she'd chosen for the occasion. "I've got to get out of this dress; it seemed like a good idea at the time, but it's damned excruciating now."</p><p>"You still look stunning, hun," he reassured her. "I particularly like the..." his eyebrows raised slightly, "feathers."</p><p>When they entered the plush office, Cassandra shut the door. "I think you should consider MACUSA's response to the IWC's Quidditch announcement. We've already had several questions about it from the usual suspects. If Russia steps in, it's only going to get worse."</p><p>The President frowned. "We've already made our stance clear. If they don't like it, that's too bad."</p><p>Scott settled down in one of the plush armchairs. "Maybe we should go over that stance again. You'll need to say it loudly if Russia boycotts."</p><p>She crossed her arms. "Russia isn't going to <em>boycott</em>. No matter how much those countries caterwaul whenever Dumbledore has to deal with internal terrorists, they all want the same thing we do: the technology the Sovereignty pumps out. Good Lord - what we've seen from them in the last few years? Stunning ingenuity. We can't replicate it; we've tried. They've got plenty of money and lots of fancy toys, I'm sure they'll put on a marvellous Cup."</p><p>For the briefest of moments, something strange flashed in her Chief of Staff's pale eyes. "Internal <em>terrorists?" </em>Cassandra echoed. "Are you being deliberately or unintentionally obtuse? Those people are innocent, and they're being oppressed. What Dumbledore's done to them is a direct violation of human rights."</p><p>For a moment, the President could only stare at her in shock. "Perhaps you've forgotten: Britain is our<em> ally," </em>she snapped.<em> "</em>Those uprisings were acts of sabotage by an unstable subgroup unwilling to modernize themselves. I've toured the country; those people are serving sentences in Azkaban for the considerable treason they've committed, just like we would sentence any of our citizens should something similar, heaven forbid, happen here! Hardly a <em>rights</em> violation. It's Dumbledore's decision how to deal with insurrectionists, not ours." She put a hand to her forehead. "Salem's curse, Cass, you're sounding like Lataco."</p><p>Cassandra crossed her arms. "So you're saying you wouldn't do one bloody thing, even if you had proof these 'insurrectionists' have been persecuted for decades and were only trying to gain the same rights gifted everyone else? That they are <em>still,</em> to this day, being exploited and tortured and murdered? You wouldn't, at the very <em>least,</em> embargo Britain's exports until the rights of those people were restored, or provide them asylum if they weren't?"</p><p>"What the hell is this?!" Saundra reached for her wand, but the heavy, hated mistake of her chosen dress slowed her movement. The stick of wood shot from her hand before she'd even lifted it…</p><p>Into Scott's waiting hand.</p><p>The President looked open-mouthed between her husband and one of her closest friends. Both of them had drawn their wands. "I demand to know what's going on!"</p><p>Cassandra pointed her wand at her. "Answer the question, peacock!"</p><p>Saundra stiffened and then straightened her dress with a huff, glaring daggers at the Chief of Staff who was clearly under the Imperius Curse or being impersonated through Polyjuice Potion. "I'm not about to lead a campaign against Albus Dumbledore, and anyone who does is a fool."</p><p>Scott stood alongside Cassandra, and Saundra glared at him with equal vigour.</p><p>"And if you knew Dumbledore's reign would end… would your position change?" he asked.</p><p>Her forehead creased. "What are you saying?"</p><p>"He's getting old, Saun; it's bound to happen eventually," he pointed out.</p><p>"Don't call me <em>Saun;</em> it's clear to me you aren't my husband," the President snapped, inching toward the door. She stopped moving when Cassandra stepped toward her, her wand only inches from her face.</p><p>"I'm sorry, you seem to be flittering a bit off topic," Whoever-She-Was said insolently. "Would your stunningly obvious adulation of the British Sovereignty become a bit less stunning if you knew the Phoenix will fall?" </p><p>Saundra scowled at them both. "It damn well w—" She froze. Her mouth opened and closed, before she looked toward them in shock.<em> "Veritaserum?"</em></p><p>Scott shrugged. "I told you. You looked like you needed a drink."</p><p>Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door and a voice that sounded very like Cassandra's said, "Madam President?"</p><p>Before Saundra could blink, the balding man she had always called her husband pointed his wand at her. <em>"Imperio."</em></p><p>Swiftly, Cassandra produced a small vial and tossed it to him. "Antidote," she hissed.</p><p>He uncorked it and poured the liquid into the President's wine glass. "Bottoms up, Saun," he sardonically instructed with an accent that was no longer American, then crossed the room to Cassandra. They stepped behind the opaque curtains sweeping across the windows before Scott leaned out slightly, obliviating the President's memories of their exchange and lifting the Imperius Curse. In the same motion, he aimed his wand at the surveillance camera in the room's corner and silently cast another spell to lift the one Cassandra had already placed upon it.</p><p>The knock came again, this time more urgently. "Madam President, are you inside?"</p><p>After a beat, the President said, sounding mystified, "Yes, I - I guess I am."</p><p>They heard the door open. "I'm so sorry to interrupt you, ma'am; I know you must be exhausted from —"</p><p>As the real Cassandra went on, the false Scott looked down and withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket. He unfolded it, then held it out to the false Cassandra across from him…</p><p>"— reports out of Britain there's been a major explosion at their wizarding school. No casualties, just destruction."</p><p>Both Scott and Cassandra froze, Cassandra's hand a centimetre from touching the handkerchief.</p><p>The President still sounded slightly confused. "Holy Houdini. I thought they got a cap on their insurgency problems."</p><p>"They definitively claim it was an act of staff negligence, not insurgency, ma'am."</p><p>"Yes, I suppose Dumbledore does seem to have dealt with that issue firmly this time around. Well, let the Sovereignty know I'm on hand should they require additional aid, and arrange for me to talk with him in person tomorrow, if possible. Between this and the Cup announcement, no doubt he's got his hands full. Sweet Salem, I have a hellish headache…"</p><p>Suddenly, the false Cassandra reached out and grasped the handkerchief, and with a hook behind their navels and a dizzying swirl of colours, they vanished from the President's Office.</p><p>"What in the bloody <em>hell</em> is that slippery imbecile thinking?" Cassandra demanded the moment they landed in a small Muggle hotel room. The placard beside the television said <em>Holdredge, Nebraska. </em>"Blowing things up? At<em> Hogwarts?</em> Oh, that's a clever way to avoid drawing attention to ours—"</p><p>"Slow down, slow down, just — <em>Stop,"</em> Scott interrupted, holding up his hands. He leaned back against the table, clenched his hand, and then opened it slowly, wandlessly illuminating the room's lamps. "He would never be so reckless; it isn't his style," he said slowly, pensively. "This may very well be just a coincidence. A rather unfortunate one, given the potion's come of age and the castle's going to be positively crawling with Sovereignty agents now, but a coincidence nonetheless."</p><p>"Oh, of course. The<em> potion,"</em> she said heatedly. "That potion should have been ready almost a week ago. Why hasn't he come down off his high hippogriff and contacted us, I'd like to know?" She used her wand to fling open the suitcase in the corner of the room and began to rifle through it, visibly fuming. "I don't trust that man as far as I can hex him, and I'll happily tell that to his face the next time we see him. I <em>hate</em> that we have to rely on him like this."</p><p>"I don't particularly like it any more than you do, but we currently don't have a choice, do we?" he responded. "Consider what we just saw — Davis and MACUSA are eating out of Dumbledore's hand like starved animals! That's yet <em>another</em> country unwilling to support us. We've exhausted nearly every diplomatic avenue available — no one's willing to move as long as Dumbledore's firmly in power. The only card we have left to play is finding out what Lucius heard before they do, and we <em>can</em>not deviate from that plan."</p><p>A forced laugh escaped her lips. "Do I look like I give one blasted whit about the bloody <em>plan</em> right now?" she exclaimed, flinging a blouse down on the bed. "We need to go back there. Our <em>child—"</em></p><p>"Is fine," he interrupted. "Our child is perfectly fine, because there were <em>no casualties."</em></p><p>She covered her eyes and turned away from him. "No. Don't try to rationalise with me now; it isn't going to work. I can't possibly take you seriously when you look like a human turtle. Saundra Davis is one sorry human being. From worshipping Dumbledore to choosing her husband and her clothing, not to mention her entire political platform, that woman's a first-order idiot."</p><p>He shook his head, ignoring the end of her rant. "Don't think I'm not worried either; I am. But we can't afford to lose sight of the bigger picture. If we return to Hogwarts before the rest of the pieces have fallen into place, we risk exposure, and <em>everything</em> we have been working toward, everyone we've <em>lost</em>, will be for nothing. The timing of this is critical. We have to wait for the right moment."</p><p>She looked over her shoulder, glaring at him darkly. "And who determines when that is, hm? That two-faced slimeball?"</p><p>He pushed himself off the table and closed the few steps separating them. "This explosion may very well have been staff negligence, but what does McGonagall have lying about that would allow simple <em>negligence</em> to snowball into so large an explosion it's international news?" he said, his voice low. "Clearly, other things are happening there that we don't know about. If something's causing him to delay, I have every reason to believe it's for the—"</p><p>Suddenly, her purse vibrated. At once, their eyes met, and then she held up a finger to his face to cut him off and swiftly summoned a small, snap-open phone to her. It was the oldest Muggle version they could find, one that had a month-by-month contract, a tiny square screen the size of two dice, and was free of the tracking software found in newer models.</p><p>When she opened it, only four words blinked at her in mechanical print from a number she didn't recognize:</p><p>
  <strong>Tomorrow night. Bambi out.</strong>
</p><p>She rolled her eyes at the signature and raised her eyebrows at her partner. "Well, Baldy. Looks like our right moment's just come buzzing."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter is a bit of an interlude between fast-moving chapters. Any guesses as to who these two fine folks are?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Kings and Shadows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Last night, Hermione had been physically and emotionally drained beyond her breaking point. A mere five hours of sleep later, a renewed surge of determination and purpose sizzled through her veins. Literally overnight, the energy she had before been splitting between two goals — scraping by in this world and finding a way home — had been channeled into one: Using whatever abilities she had to make this cruel place a home that she, and the people she had come to care about, could bear to live in.</p><p>Hermione didn't know what it would take, or how much it would take.</p><p>She just knew that she was prepared it give it her all.</p><p>As she and Harry entered the Great Hall for the all-school assembly, dozens of tired-looking students clapped them on the back in thanks for the breaking news and announcements the Head Boy and Girl had run between the three Houses well into the early morning hours. Hermione's imperious toss of her hair and smug smile in response was not entirely feigned.</p><p>She didn't even flinch when she had to dodge a foot Ginevra stuck out in the aisle to trip her.</p><p>Hermione spun and smiled down at the redhead condescendingly. "Oh Ginevra, darling, really — Christmas colours before Halloween? I would've expected better judgement from you."</p><p>Ginevra narrowed her eyes at her. <em>"What</em> nonsense are you going on about now?" she spat.</p><p>Hermione smirked. "You're looking a little green. With<em> envy.</em> It's quite a good match with your hair, but it's a tad bit early for holiday decorations, don't you think?"</p><p>When several Hufflepuffs on the other side of the aisle chortled, Parvati began giggling loudly, and even Lavender forced a smile, Hermione's smirk only grew. Yes, perhaps she was poking a dormant (or not so dormant) dragon in the eye, but if she didn't put her foot down eventually, she could only imagine Ginevra's increasingly blatant attacks would grow worse.</p><p>As per usual, Harry ignored both Ginevra and Hermione, though the chatter filling the hall was so loud Hermione doubted he could hear them anyway. They both found their places on two chairs that had been placed for the Head Boy and Girl on the edge of the dais at the front of the room. Instead of holding the long professor table it usually did, only their seats, the empty Headmistress chair and two extra chairs placed on either side of it remained, set behind a single podium.</p><p>Using what she had sardonically dubbed "the Princess My Promenade," Hermione sauntered up to the seat upon which <em>Head Girl</em> had been magically etched and smoothly sat down on it. Schooling her face into a presumptuous half-smile, she subtly studied the Great Hall while idly curling a lock of hair around her finger.</p><p>Only during the Yule Ball had she seen it more crowded than it was now.</p><p>Every seat of the remaining three House tables was filled, the students packed in like sardines. The final table that had once belonged to Slytherin but was now used for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff overflow was quickly filling with Phoenix disaster response wizards who had begun to enter the Hall in hoards, many of them looking quite haggard, their clothing smudged dark with soot.</p><p>All awaited the Sovereignty's official announcement on the Hangar explosion — and a hot Hogwarts meal.</p><p>The side door across from the platform opened, and McGonagall entered briskly, followed by the impressive forms of Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Both wore magnificent deep blue robes with a beautiful golden Phoenix woven on the backs. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if the design had been made with actual gold.</p><p>The noise in the Great Hall immediately increased tenfold.</p><p>Both Sovereignty officials settled into their seats with all the poise and composure of royalty, Kingsley dramatically tossing the robe's extra fabric over the chair's armrest, a small smile playing on his lips. He appeared largely the same as he had in Universe A, dressed to the nines — a polished look that the brilliant robes of the Sovereignty Elite only exaggerated. His personality, however, was a different story completely.</p><p>As McGonagall held up her hands for silence, Kingsley's eyes slipped over in Hermione's direction.</p><p>She knew what was coming, but before she could look away, he sent her an obvious wink.</p><p>Bloody <em>Morgana...</em></p><p>Internally, she held back a disgusted scowl. Didn't he have more important things to worry about — such as the ongoing investigation of a major explosion, for instance? This was the <em>fifth</em> bloody time he had flirted with her since she'd first encountered him ten hours earlier, after he'd immediately laughed when she'd called him Minister Shacklebolt and asked why she was being so formal.</p><p>Clearly, My had not concurred with Hermione's immediate reaction.</p><p>Now, Hermione arched an eyebrow at him, sending him a crooked smirk. Hopefully that would stave him off for the duration of the assembly.</p><p>"Your attention! Your attention, please!" McGonagall called in an amplified voice, tapping her wand on the podium.</p><p>Hermione gladly shifted her attention from Kingsley and placed the entirety of it firmly on the Headmistress. The room finally hushed, with some help from professors who were posted like bodyguards around the perimeter of the hall, until only a few sporadic whispers and the sound of fidgeting bodies remained.</p><p>"Thank you." McGonagall straightened her Headmistress robes importantly and again tapped the podium. A scroll materialized on it, out of sight from the general audience. "I would like to welcome those of you who are joining us from afar — the Phoenix disaster response teams, investigators… journalists," she added, sounding disgruntled, and nodded toward nearly a dozen "wizardcast" and print journalists standing at the back of the hall, poised with a peculiar mixture of quills and Muggle-like recording equipment. "I see many familiar faces among you," she sighed. "It seems like only yesterday you were running through our hallways as students."</p><p>Hermione followed the Headmistress's gaze toward the crowd, trying not to linger on any one face as she scanned them impartially. Between sporadic, blinding camera flashes from the reporters' direction, she noticed some she certainly recognized: Sturgis Podmore, Emmeline Vance, and — Hermione strained her gaze without going so far as to squint — she could just make out an unsmiling Lee Jordan among a group of MIIR agents on the east side of the room.</p><p>"I wish the circumstances that required your return today were less dire," McGonagall went on, "but that, unfortunately, is not the case." She sighed heavily, the tip of her stylish wizarding hat drooping slightly. "These several hours have been very trying for all of us. I have had the privilege of being the Headmistress of this great institution since 1978, and an instructor here for much longer than that. In these many years, I have never seen such an incident occur on these grounds. I cannot emphasize my gratitude for the immediate assistance of the Phoenix…"</p><p>As the older witch continued her speech, Hermione sat up slightly, frowning.</p><p><em>1978</em>… but that wasn't accurate, was it? McGonagall had been Headmistress since 1973 - at least, Hermione assumed she had been, based on the years etched beneath the large portrait of the previous Headmaster hanging behind McGonagall's desk in the Headmistress Office-</p><p>Thunderous applause startled her from her thoughts, and she blinked back to attention to see McGonagall holding her hand out toward the table of Sovereignty employees. "And the professors and staff," she said over the clamour, gesturing toward the standing faculty, before she turned toward Hermione and Harry, "and our Heads of Students and Prefects who so admirably stepped forward to lead!"</p><p>More camera flashes exploded from the back of the room, and Hermione instantly pasted an artificial smile on her face, smiling prettily out into the Great Hall.</p><p>After the room quieted, McGonagall continued, "Now, no doubt you've already noticed the two very distinguished guests to either side of me. We are very honoured, and fortunate, to have here with us today Minister of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones and Minister for Magical Investigation and Incident Response Kingsley Shacklebolt." Amelia Bones inclined her head ever-so-slightly toward the crowd, while Kingsley flashed blindingly white teeth and lifted his hand. "They and their ministries have been tirelessly investigating the cause of this unfortunate accident since daybreak. Minister Shacklebolt will now inform you of their findings."</p><p>McGonagall stepped back from the platform. Kingsley stood and bowed to her slightly, sweeping up her hand and giving her another charismatic smile. "I sincerely appreciate your kind words, Headmistress."</p><p>McGonagall actually appeared flustered, smiling nervously before flushing, waving him away and taking a seat behind him.</p><p>Hermione would have rolled her eyes were she not busy holding her breath, her stomach in knots. She supposed if Kingsley was still flirting with her, he couldn't possibly be prepared to announce she was a suspect in the Hangar explosion, but there was still always the tiniest chance…</p><p>With all the confidence of a preacher, Kingsley turned toward the crowd.</p><p>"Good afternoon, students, faculty and staff, and, of course, the good wizards and witches joining us today from the Phoenix," Kingsley greeted in a booming voice he hadn't even amplified, an amiable smile still on his face, his dark eyes glittering. "This day has certainly been bittersweet for me, and I'm certain for you as well. It isn't easy to receive a distress call from a place we all hold dear. It isn't easy to see such damage inflicted on grounds most of us have once roamed."</p><p>Hermione watched him calmly, but her nerves were poised — though to do what, she didn't know.</p><p>"Before I begin," Kingsley said, his tonality rising and falling with the assured emphasis of a seasoned speaker, "I'd like to again commend the brave actions of our Sovereignty response teams and the entire Hogwarts community. Their rapid and thorough response and investigation has allowed me to confidently confirm to you now that we do not suspect foul play. No. This… unprecedented explosion does indeed seem to have simply been a tragic <em>accident,</em> due to the negligence of a single Hogwarts staff member."</p><p>Many gasps of surprise, followed quickly by loud whispers, exploded throughout the Hall.</p><p>Hermione let out a small breath of relief.</p><p>"That staff member has been relieved of his duties and this morning was taken into custody," Kingsley continued over the din, which swiftly quieted. "We will release the individual's name once his story has been corroborated. Our investigation into the precise sequence of events leading up to the fire is, of course, ongoing. But I can assure you the full power of the Sovereignty has been channelled into efficiently resolving this matter and restoring the castle grounds for students' safe use."</p><p>From a few exchanges Hermione had peripherally witnessed the night before, she suspected that more than one individual had actually been taken into custody, but the Sovereignty wasn't about to reveal that Fred and George Weasley were on Hogwarts property; it would raise too many questions she was certain they didn't want asked.</p><p>"The Headmistress has informed me support will be available for any and all members of the Hogwarts community who wish to discuss any concerns they might have regarding this unfortunate incident. It's certainly distressing to learn that something so devastating has stemmed from the carelessness of an acquaintance and, in many cases, a friend." Kingsley looked down at the podium and shook his head so mournfully Hermione almost believed he gave a sod about Hagrid… which, from several discourteous comments he'd made about the half-Giant last night, she knew he didn't. "Let this be a reminder to us all - to take good care in the things we do, no matter how trivial or mundane. We never know when even the simplest tasks may try to escape us."</p><p>Hermione's eyebrow arched slightly before she could stop it, though she managed to wrestle back the slight upward curl that threatened at the corners of her lips: It appeared the "creature breakout" scenario she'd so painstakingly set up was still the leading theory as to the cause, or contributing toward the cause, of the explosion.</p><p>Kingsley lifted his head, his voice again reverberating around the hall. "That is all the information I can provide you. Thank you all for your patience as we continue our response efforts, and for your presence now for this announcement."</p><p>Behind the Hufflepuff table, she watched Trelawney and Sprout leaning toward Kingsley from where they stood, their heads bobbing fiercely - clearly hanging on to his every word.</p><p>As a smattering of applause began, a female voice exclaimed, "Minister Shacklebolt!"</p><p>As one, the entire populace of the Great Hall swivelled toward the voice's origin.</p><p>Hermione's eyes narrowed in surprise when she saw that Rita Skeeter was standing halfway down one of the aisles — and she probably would have walked right up to the podium if Snape wasn't standing in front of her with his arms crossed, barring her path.</p><p>"Oh, get your paws <em>off</em> me—" Skeeter tried to sidestep around him, but when Charity Burbage moved to join him, she shouted instead, "Minister, can you confirm — This was <em>not</em> an act of conservative insurgents?"</p><p>Kingsley shook his head and flashed her a relaxed smile, stepping away from the podium. "I'm sorry, no questions at this time."</p><p>"But we're all thinking it, aren't we?" a male voice called. Hermione's gaze wasn't fast enough to see who was behind it before several other voices chimed in their agreement from across the Great Hall.</p><p>"Filthy rodents."</p><p>"That's what they do, isn't it? Lurk in the shadows until they can poke their heads out again!"</p><p>For a single moment, Hermione noticed Kingsley's expression truly harden for the first time since she'd met him. Then he turned back toward the audience, the pleasant half-smile back in place.</p><p>He held up his hand for quiet.</p><p>The volume in the room quickly complied.</p><p>He stared out silently at the crowd with gleaming eyes. "As many of you know, before I was so honoured to accept the position of MIIR Minister, I was the director of the now-dissolved Agency for Conservative Management and Investigation," he eventually rumbled. "In my decade of leadership, my people and I worked to encourage and educate our conservative population so they could step with us, hand in hand, into the future." His pleasant expression faded in proportion to the growing emotion in his voice. "But they, in their incendiary ignorance, refused to accept — no, <em>scorned</em> our ways, and spat upon our principles of balance of the Dark and Lights Arts. Well, we all know what happened then."</p><p>Kingsley gripped the sides of the podium, leaning toward an audience that appeared to be equally enthralled. "After our Second Intervention, the Agency was dissolved for a purpose. We've left no stone unturned. We've left no conservative unsentenced or undiscovered. We've properly dealt with each and every one of the <em>filth</em> that would seek to <em>slander,</em> <em>block,</em> and <em>depose</em> our natural <em>right</em> as wizards to explore our magic to its outermost bounds, to develop avant-garde new technology the world envies, and to co-exist harmoniously with our Muggle and Muggle-born compatriots!"</p><p>Passionate conviction radiated from his frame, and from it Hermione was immediately reminded of why she'd been so grateful Kingsley Shacklebolt had been an ally in the fight against Voldemort.</p><p>Unfortunately, she would not be so lucky here.</p><p>Kingsley lowered a deadly gaze on Skeeter.</p><p>"These convicts of the State have been stripped of their every magical ability and relegated to the position they themselves have claimed: <em>Behind</em> us. <em>Below</em> us," he said, his lip curling slightly in contempt. "They have no power to lift a finger against a child, let alone a building. Let me be the first to assure everyone who hears this message that conservative insurgents will <em>never again</em> threaten to subvert and destroy our great way of life and this remarkable world we've all built together!"</p><p>For a moment, only silence met his words. But then someone began to clap, and Hermione reeled, horrified, as the entire room burst into loud applause. Surely they couldn't <em>all</em> have bought into such blatantly obvious nonsense — not if they'd actually <em>known</em> any of the conservatives Kingsley was so barbarically denouncing! Not if they'd known —</p><p>Her mind lurched to a stop before she could finish that thought.</p><p>
  <em>Not if they'd known someone like Draco.</em>
</p><p>An elbow suddenly dug into her side.</p><p>Hermione jerked and began clapping as well, long and hard. She glanced over at Harry's stony face only briefly in unspoken thanks before she carefully zeroed in on the students within her line of sight. Some were clapping harder than others, while some simply looked bored. The Ravenclaw table as a whole seemed less rabidly enthusiastic than the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, but it was impossible to tell if any outright disagreed.</p><p>Then her eyes landed on Peia, who was sitting, isolated, at the Gryffindor table. The wild-haired girl stared at the ground, clapping very limply while some of the children around her shot her dirty looks.</p><p>Hermione's heart went out to her. To have lost her mother and be placed alone in a hostile world at so young an age — and be expected to acculturate?</p><p>Well, Hermione had a very good idea of how she must have felt.</p><p>Kingsley coolly stepped away from the podium, clearly basking in the applause. His hard expression had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he unnecessarily straightened the collar of his robes. "And that's all I have to say about that."</p><p>Even Skeeter seemed properly cowed, though for different reasons entirely, Hermione was sure. If Kingsley's speech was a taste of the twisted propaganda the Sovereignty had used against the conservatives, it was brilliant. An abominable and warped exaggeration of a few basic facts. But brilliant.</p><p>The conservatives hadn't wanted a war — not if what Draco had told her was true, and Hermione didn't for a second doubt it was. They had only wanted to practice their Light beliefs freely and equally, without being forced to perform the Dark Arts. If the Sovereignty had framed that intention as a direct threat to the life and lifestyle of every "progressive" member of the country… Well, no wonder most didn't blink twice at the House-Witches' and Wizards' incarceration and subhuman treatment.</p><p>The Minister flashed another brilliant smile. "Again, thank you for your patience as we continue our response efforts." He looked back toward McGonagall, grinning broadly. "Can I give the word?"</p><p>The older woman nodded exasperatedly, but seemed to be restraining a smile. "Oh… If you must."</p><p>Kingsley turned back toward the depths of the Great Hall and lifted his hands. "Eat, drink, and be at ease!" he proclaimed. "And Merlin bless the Sovereignty of the Phoenix!"</p><p>A scattered cheer went up through the crowd. It only grew in volume when platters of food instantly appeared down the length of the four tables, and the response workers in particular attacked the dishes like starving wildebeests.</p><p>Kingsley laughed. He glanced toward Hermione and winked again. "Always wanted to do that."</p><p>Hermione returned his smile with a measured one of her own and flounced to her feet, crossing the dais right up to him without a second glance at Harry. "Oh, Kingsley, it's always such a pleasure," she gushed, holding out her hand.</p><p>He swept it up and planted a kiss on it. "Believe me, Lady Evans…" He straightened and gave her a wide smile, "The pleasure is mine entirely."</p><p>Hermione strongly credited herself for maintaining a small half-smile and eye contact; she would have strongly preferred to hex him into tomorrow. "Aren't you <em>ever</em> so charming, <em>Minister</em>," she simpered, turning her accidental use of his title the night before into a joke between them.</p><p>He laughed. "I'll admit, it gets me into trouble."</p><p>Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck rose slightly, and she felt the strong sensation that someone was watching her. Her brow creased. She glanced to her left… to see Ronáld staring straight at her and Kingsley from the Gryffindor table, wearing an expression that actually appeared halfway glum. When he realized he'd been caught, he scowled at her and looked away.</p><p>An even wider smile threatened to burst across her face. <em>Merlin,</em> the Night-long Fantasy Gel was brilliant — for the love of Merlin, she'd taken Ronáld's very House-Wizard and he couldn't even hate her, which for him was quite saying something. But then her thought of the anti-Love Potion reminded her of the dark deeds of Universe B's Fred and George Weasley, and the smile fell from her face.</p><p>"Now, who could have possibly stolen the spotlight from the likes of me?" Kingsley's voice asked from behind her, sounding amused.</p><p>Hermione's stomach twisted in distaste; the memory of the unflappable professionalism of Kingsley's Universe A counterpart only worsened the startling deviance of this man's character. She turned her nose up at Ronáld and looked back at the Sovereignty Minister nonchalantly. "Pining ex-boyfriend," she said airily.</p><p>He grinned, his brown eyes sparkling. "Can't say I blame him."</p><p>Merlin, on top of the fact that she had to be at least twenty-five years his junior, did this man not have a Ministry to run?</p><p>Hermione sighed sadly, trying her best to look distressed. "Oh, if only other men could learn from his mistakes."</p><p>"Oh?" he asked interestedly.</p><p>"Well, I suppose it was only one irksome quality, really, but something about this moment just reminds me of it."</p><p>Kingsley leaned toward her, lowering his voice. "I may not be the Minister of Mysteries, Lady Evans, but I'd still be pleased to learn some of yours."</p><p>
  <em>Oh, if you had any idea.</em>
</p><p>Hermione smiled at him coquettishly. "The most… desirable men," she purred in a low voice, causing him to lean toward her even more, smirking, "are the ones who don't incessantly <em>hover."</em></p><p>Kingsley continued to smile, but his brow furrowed, as if something about her last words wasn't quite what he'd been expecting… though he hadn't quite sorted out how.</p><p>Hermione fluttered her eyelashes at him innocently. "Good day, Kingsley."</p><p>With that, she gave him a smile as charming as any he could conjure, turned to the austere Minister Bones to give her regards, claimed exhaustion to a sympathetic McGonagall, and extracted herself from the platform and Kingsley Shacklebolt's disturbingly suggestive gaze.</p><p>She surreptitiously pilfered a few rolls as she passed the Gryffindor table. Before she could move on, though, Remus Lupin turned from his temporary seat beside some fourth years, patting her knee. "Right smart leadership you and Lord Evans displayed last night, Lady Evans," he said with a fatherly smile. "Making your mother proud, no doubt."</p><p>"Oh, I hope so. Just doing my part like everyone else," Hermione returned sweetly.</p><p>Journalists crowded around her as she neared the main doors to the Hall, some holding out what actually appeared to be some sort of hybrid camera-microphone. <em>Bugger, My, why didn't you register for a bloody Muggle Technology class? </em>she thought irately.</p><p>She pretended to preen under the attention, dramatically flipping her hair over her shoulders.</p><p>Skeeter was the first reporter wave a camera in her face. "Lady Evans, describe what it was like to be in the castle during the explosion."</p><p>"Where in the building were you when it happened?"</p><p>"Did you see it occur?"</p><p>"What are your thoughts that someone who works at Hogwarts is at fault?"</p><p>"We understand you played a major role in calming the students; what were their reactions?"</p><p>Hermione looked toward Rita, who had asked the first question. "It was… indescribably horrifying," she said in an affected voice, placing a hand over her heart. "Simply <em>awful.</em> None of us understood what could have <em>caused</em> something like that to happen <em>here,</em> at Hogwarts." As she thought of her experience in the Hangar, tears sprang to her eyes. "I… I just did what anyone would have in my situation. As did all the prefects and student leaders, of course," she added with a sniff.</p><p>The reporters nodded empathetically, quills bobbing. Before they could fire off another round of questions, however, Snape swooped past her, shoving his way between her and the reporters. "Lady Evans, like any student here, is in no way obligated to provide a statement," he announced, flicking his wand at them. "Now be good little vultures and scat." He looked back at her. "Or <em>you</em> scat. Either works."</p><p>"I don't <em>scat,"</em> she said disgustedly.</p><p>"Basic bodily function would disagree," he said sardonically.</p><p>Hermione gave him a revolted expression, glanced over at the reporters and flashed what she hoped was a brilliant smile, looked back at Snape and heaved a loud huff of displeasure, and gladly took the opportunity he presented her to escape the Great Hall. She entered the nearest women's loo and tossed her Invisibility Cloak over herself, then exited the swinging door just as quickly.</p><p>Something McGonagall had said in her opening remarks was bothering her… and she knew her favourite place on earth would hold the answers she needed.</p><p>Once Hermione entered the library, she found the History of Magic section quickly enough, carefully running her hand down row upon row of books. She paused when she encountered <span><em>Hogwarts' Esteemed Headmasters and Headmistresses: An Abbreviated Biographical Collection</em></span>.</p><p>That sounded promising.</p><p>Hermione pulled it out, flipping to the table of contents. She slowed at the latter end of the 20th Century:</p><p>
  <em>Armando Dippet (1902 — 1956) …. 401</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Silvanus Kettleburn (1956 − 1973) …. 449</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Minerva McGonagall (1978 − present day) …. 558</em>
</p><p>Hermione frowned at the five-year gap between Kettleburn and McGonagall. She flipped the book open to page 558, upon which a picture of a much younger McGonagall stared out at her, her hair dark rather than silver but in the same chin-length haircut, a half-smile on her face.</p><p>The page beside it was numbered 517.</p><p>Whoever had been the head of Hogwarts between Kettleburn and McGonagall had clearly been expunged, though the book showed no indication of vandalism or tampering to otherwise indicate 40 pages of it were missing.</p><p>She replaced<em> <span>An Abbreviated Biographical Collection</span></em> and pulled out another.</p><p>This one was slightly older — published in 1977. Yet Kettleburn was the last Headmaster it discussed as well, despite the fact that his term had ended four years before that time.</p><p>Hermione's brow creased as she stared down as the vanished pages. What crime could a headmaster have possibly committed to have been completely obliterated from Hogwarts history? In her world, someone like Umbridge certainly wouldn't have been placed in such a book to begin with — clearly, she'd been a Ministry lemon, never official accepted by the Headmaster's Office. But this person, whoever it had been, had served far longer than Umbridge had... unless, of course, Hogwarts had gone through several Headmasters in succession.</p><p>She lifted her head thoughtfully, considering the course of events that could have occurred had Dumbledore been absent from Hogwarts all along. In 1973, which Hogwarts professors might have been given preference for the position of Headmaster over McGonagall — and then disappeared only a few years before the start of the First Conservative Intervention?</p><p>The only long-time instructors in Universe A who were not faculty in Universe B were Aurora Sinistra and Septima Vector. If the Headmistress had been one of them, perhaps she had joined the conservative movement — certainly that could explain why she'd been blotted from history. As far as Hermione knew, both women had been in Ravenclaw, not Slytherin, but that didn't mean they couldn't have felt similar concern about the prolific use of Dark Magic.</p><p>She plunged back into the library's offerings. When a fourth book revealed the same omission, Hermione closed it perplexedly and looked up —</p><p>Harry was casually leaning against the bookcase a few feet away from her.</p><p>She almost went into cardiac arrest.</p><p><em>"Merlin," </em>she gasped, clutching her chest, then realized she was still wearing her Invisibility Cloak. She muttered a detection charm; when it didn't note any Dark Magic surveillance technology spells nearby, she yanked off the Cloak, glaring at him. "Don't you dare do that again!" she hissed.</p><p>Of course, he appeared entirely unapologetic. Silently, he pushed himself off the shelves with one shoulder and held out a piece of parchment.</p><p>She blinked down at it in surprise. "What's this?" she asked, snatching it from his hand.</p><p>Shockingly polished script, almost the complete opposite of Harry Potter's near-chicken scratch, had elegantly written, <em>We need to talk</em>.</p><p>Hermione guessed he wanted to discuss Lucius Malfoy, which brought her pause for a number of reasons: first, she wasn't prepared to jump whenever Harry Evans told her to, and second, he couldn't <em>possibly</em> be thinking of doing anything risky now… not while half the Sovereignty workforce was buzzing around the castle.</p><p>Hermione conjured a quill and scribbled, <em>Later. I'm busy.</em></p><p>Harry read her words and immediately scowled. He pulled a quill from his own bag and swiftly wrote something on the same piece of parchment, then shoved the note back at her.</p><p>
  <em>Now.</em>
</p><p>She pursed her lips. No doubt whatever scheme he wanted to propose was highly implausible — Merlin, they were talking about moving Lucius Malfoy from under Dumbledore's nose, after all — and she <em>supposed</em> it would be far better to start planning for it sooner rather than later. At the same time, she hated allowing an unsolved mystery to remain unsolved.</p><p>Somewhat reluctantly, she returned the final book she'd pulled out back on the shelf. Then her gaze on it sharpened.</p><p>Of course… Why not kill two birds with one stone?</p><p>Harry had begun to put away his quill, obviously sensing victory. Hermione reached over and plucked it from his hand, ignoring his splutter.</p><p><em>Fine,</em> she wrote on the now-cluttered scrap of paper. <em>But tell me first: Who was Headmaster directly before McGonagall, after Kettleburn?</em></p><p>She handed him the note and the quill. Harry snatched both from her and read it, then looked back up at her quickly. The visible surprise that momentarily flashed through his normally-closed expression unsettled her. He looked at her for another long moment before he began to write.</p><p>Nothing could have prepared her for the name he held up for her to see.</p><p>Hermione had all of four seconds to read it before he set the parchment aflame, vanishing its ashes once it'd burned.</p><p>But there was no mistaking the perfectly looped letters that formed the surname <em>Riddle.</em></p>
<hr/><p>Tom Marvolo Riddle had been Headmaster of Hogwarts.</p><p>It made complete sense, Hermione decided on the long walk back to the common room. After all, Harry Potter had told her once that Voldemort had wanted to teach at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore, thank Merlin and all the ghosts, hadn't let him. Perhaps a similar propensity had existed in the Riddle of this world… and this time, Dumbledore's opinion of him had been different. She could have kicked herself for not having considered the possibility before.</p><p>That explained perfectly why the Sovereignty had wiped all evidence of his Headmastership from Hogwarts history — he'd led a full revolt against them soon afterwards.</p><p>Hermione frowned.</p><p><em>Very </em>soon afterwards, actually. Riddle's tenure as Headmaster had stretched to the very doorstep of the First Intervention. But as the leader of the conservative moment, he must have been gathering forces before then, hadn't he? How was it that Dumbledore, who'd likely appointed Riddle to the Headmaster position, hadn't realized that the same man was on the verge of apostasy?</p><p>Hermione let out a frustrated breath. The deeper she immersed herself in this world, the more she realized how woefully uninformed and underprepared she was, and uninformed and underprepared were two things Hermione Granger didn't relish being.</p><p>She mentally moved sussing out the profound enigma surrounding Tom Riddle to 'high priority.'</p><p>The common room was empty when she and Harry entered it. Either Draco was still asleep — she couldn't blame him if he was — or in her room with Pansy. As Hermione moved toward her bedroom first to look for them both, Harry stepped in front of her, blocking her path.</p><p>Her eyebrows flew up when he cast a Muffliato charm around them.</p><p>"You can't possibly be thinking of holding this conversation without Draco," she said in astonishment.</p><p>He tossed her the <em>'Are you stupid?'</em> expression she thoroughly detested. "Aren't you supposed to be the rational one?" he asked. "The Lucius Malfoy situation's going to be plenty difficult as it is without having to deal with Malfoy's reaction to it. This is his father; his judgement'll be clouded. He stays out of it."</p><p>"On the contrary, this is his <em>father;</em> he has a right to know!" she exclaimed. She lifted her wand to disperse the Muffliato charm.</p><p>Harry grabbed her wrist before she could, his eyes icy. "Don't you dare lift that spell, Granger."</p><p>Hermione yanked her arm away. "Why?" she retorted, challenging his glare with one of her own. "Going to stop me?"</p><p>He momentarily gaped at her, and she felt an ounce of grim satisfaction. "This isn't the time for you to assert your <em>independence," </em>he growled. "We have less than eighteen hours to act on Malfoy, despite the chaos into which the castle has now descended. Pieces are moving of which you have <em>absolutely</em> no awareness. If you want a seat at the table, you're going to have to take it now."</p><p>"You're sounding awfully desperate for someone who doesn't like rushing into things," she countered, narrowing her eyes at him calculatingly. "Why is that, exactly?"</p><p>For a long time, Harry didn't respond at all, though his jaw did tense considerably. His body language screamed his displeasure that she was prepared to debate him rather than blindly follow him off a cliff like the lemming he obviously hoped her to be.</p><p>Eventually, he said grudgingly, "We may have the opportunity to administer the restorative potion before the Sovereignty does."</p><p>Hermione frowned. "You said the potion was ready yesterday," she said, studying his taut expression for any indication he was actually telling her the truth. "If the answers to this obviously critical secret are finally within Dumbledore's obsessive grasp, why haven't they acted on it already?"</p><p>"Why the bloody hell do you think?" he asked irately. "The explosion's set everyone back. Which is why we only have tonight to act before they will."</p><p><em>"Tonight!" </em>she exclaimed in astonishment, glaring at him accusingly. "You don't want to help him escape at all, do you? You want to find out whatever he knows for yourself, and then you'll, what - Obliviate him again? Leave him there for the Sovereignty to find? Do you honestly expect me to… No." She shook her head. "No. I'm not discussing anything else until Draco and Pansy are part of this."</p><p>"Fine," Harry snapped, looking thoroughly narked. "Go get your lover boy. But don't say I didn't warn you when he doesn't like what I have to say."</p><p>Hermione froze. <em>"Excuse</em> me?"</p><p>Harry scowled at her. "This is a <em>war,</em> Granger. It may not look like one yet, but it is. Difficult choices have to be made, and Lucius Malfoy's fate is one of them."</p><p>Her heart had begun beating faster. "No. Not that. Why would you call him that?"</p><p>Harry stared at her for a second, and then his eyebrows raised slightly in realization. "Well, isn't he? Why else would you two be getting so cosy on his camp bed?"</p><p>Hermione's stomach clenched like a vice. "First, we weren't 'getting cosy'; you may have noticed whenever you so stalkerishly made your observation that he was sleeping on the floor," she shot back, overcome with an inexplicably vehement need to deny whatever it was he was implying. "Second, <em>absolutely</em> not! Draco's been an incredible friend, and I won't have you cheapen our relationship by insinuating it's something else!"</p><p>Harry snorted. "An incredible friend; I'm sure he has been." He actually smiled slightly, though his gaze was spiteful. "Didn't mention he declared his undying love for <em>My</em> in fourth year, did he?"</p><p>"That was just a prank," Hermione said, though her lip curled slightly at the mere thought of Draco saying such words to My; the self-absorbed bint didn't deserve even the idea of him.</p><p>Harry simply raised his eyebrows at her. "Then why would Weasley to this day believe it wasn't? Surely he ordered Malfoy to fess up to the truth."</p><p>Imagining that savage <em>beast</em> ordering Draco to do anything made her blood boil. "Ronáld Weasley's a possessive monster who wouldn't have an eye for the truth if it hit him in the face!" she exploded. "Merlin, Harry, what's wrong with you? Are you really so - so <em>miserable</em> that you get some sort of sadistic sense of pleasure from making people look and feel worse than you do?"</p><p>His gaze darkened. "Careful, Granger. You have no idea—"</p><p>"Yes, I know, I have <em>no idea </em>how awful it is to be you," she retorted searingly. "Well, I can't know if you— if you hide yourself behind this vicious wall! Time and time again, I have held out the white flag to you," she said in a low voice, levelling an even stare at him. "If you'd rather not take it, fine. If you aren't certain <em>how</em> to take it, I can understand that, too. But there's still such a thing as common sense, Harry! Draco, myself — You don't treat your allies with the same cruelty you would afford your enemies! This is a dark place, and right now, we're all we've got. So if you want my help with Lucius Malfoy, this ends now!"</p><p>Harry simply stared at her, his mouth parted slightly.</p><p>Hermione shook her head. This Harry seemed so set in his ways… perhaps pecking at him to become a better person wasn't even worth it.</p><p>After a beat of silence, she flung away his Muffliato charm more vigorously than normal and marched off toward the stairs to her room. She was nearly at the top of them when Harry spoke again; for the first time, his voice actually held the faintest tinge of uncertainty.</p><p>"Granger…"</p><p>Hermione quickly glanced back at him. The mirror of her best friend was still standing where she'd left him, but his shoulders were tense, his hands gripped tightly at his sides.</p><p>Hermione felt herself softening, and she sighed. "Why don't you check your room for Pansy and Draco in case they aren't in mine," she suggested, the aggression gone from her voice. "We'll meet back here."</p><p>Harry stared at her motionlessly, then nodded tautly without a word, turning toward the other set of stairs.</p><p>His momentary lapse of argumentative aloofness, no matter how small, gave her hope. As Hermione watched him retreat, she felt a wave of almost sisterly concern for his well-being — and not simply because he looked like Harry Potter, she realized in surprise. Except for his relationship with Pansy, Harry Evans truly didn't know what it was like to have the kind of loving friendships his Universe A counterpart did.</p><p>However much of that he brought on himself didn't matter. Hermione genuinely felt sad for him.</p><p>When she finally turned back to her quarters, they were empty, though a half-open book lay on the window seat, the cushion partially indented. The door to Hermione's closet was open, the light on inside it. "Pansy?" she asked.</p><p>The dark-haired girl poked her head out of the wardrobe wearing only a tank top, wet hair tumbling messily around her shoulders. "I'll be out in a minute. Did you need us?"</p><p>Hermione nodded. "Yeah. Summit meeting down in the common room."</p><p>Pansy disappeared back into the closet. "How was the assembly? Did they - Did they figure out the cause?"</p><p>"The official word's that Hagrid's at fault. They didn't get into many more details than that. They all seemed quite confident it was an accident, though. Doesn't seem like anything we need to worry about."</p><p>"Are the Viceroys... They aren't still here, are they?" Her reticent voice carried nervously across the room.</p><p>Hermione shook her head, leaning against the doorframe. "No, they left this morning. The investigation's been left to…" Hermione hesitated, remembering Kingsley Shacklebolt had apparently led most of the efforts to suppress Pansy and her friends, "…a few lesser officials."</p><p>"Thank Merlin." Pansy emerged from the closet wearing a long, belted purple sweater over leggings and boots. Now that she had access to My's store of clothing, the Slytherin's own fashion sense had emerged as effortlessly stylish, and Hermione was honestly glad to have her help putting together most of the outfits she had to wear as My.</p><p>"Have you seen Draco?" she asked.</p><p>"Mm." Pansy nodded, joining her at the door. "I checked in on him a little earlier. He was still asleep." Her azure gaze met Hermione's eyes earnestly. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For getting that potion for him. The things he talks to you about…" She sighed. "He would never tell me. Not that I mind, of course," she added hastily.</p><p>Hermione doubted that — after all, Draco hadn't actually <em>told</em> her he needed the Dreamless Sleep Potion. "I'm sure that isn't true, Pansy," she said reassuringly. "You're his best friend."</p><p>"Yes. Yes, I suppose I am, technically." Pansy smiled half-heartedly. "In reality, I quite think I more fill the role of younger sister, in his mind."</p><p>"What do you mean?" she asked curiously.</p><p>She shrugged. "He's always been protective of me. My mum was… gone while I was growing up." She shifted her gaze to the floor. "My dad had to travel to find work, so I spent a lot of time with Draco and his mum, and then Blaise and his family as well. I appreciate his concern, of course I do, but… I know there's things he doesn't tell me. Things that truly trouble him. Like his… scars." She sighed, fiddling with her belt strap. "Draco's so upbeat most of the time, he — well, you know what he's like. He just says he doesn't want me to worry. Which of course only worries me more."</p><p>Hermione nodded understandingly. How many times had Harry given her and Ron the same frustrating response? "Well, I only know about some of his injuries because I needed to heal him; he couldn't very well hide them. I've no doubt he would have preferred I didn't know otherwise," she said logically. She shook her head and tried to laugh, though it emerged mirthlessly. "The lack of privacy's probably driving him mad. You as well, for that matter."</p><p>The weak sound died in her throat when Pansy's wide blue eyes gazed at her with an expression Hermione couldn't quite read.</p><p>"I'm certain that isn't the reason, Hermione," she said, thoughtfully biting one side of her lip.</p><p>Hermione suddenly felt uncomfortable for a reason she couldn't quite elicit. She turned abruptly. "Let's not forget. Important meeting."</p><p>Pansy joined Harry on one of the common room couches while Hermione continued on toward Draco's quarters — apparently, Harry had drawn the line at rousing schoolboy rivals, or whatever they were here. She knocked quietly on the side of the wall; when no noise came from inside, she hesitated, then walked through the narrow entrance.</p><p>The Slytherin was laying in the exact position in which she'd left him late that morning: curled up on his left side beneath the blanket he'd pulled over her the night before, his shock of platinum hair spilling across the deep green pillowcase. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in a sedate but steady rhythm. His forehead with smooth, the small lines at the corners of his eyes free of laughter but also of worry.</p><p>Only in the yearbook picture of him, Pansy, and Blaise had Hermione ever seen his face as relaxed as it was now.</p><p>For a moment, she felt the same rush of affection she'd experienced that morning, when she'd rolled over after a refreshingly deep sleep to see him sleeping peacefully on the ground beside the bed, an open bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion beside him. She didn't know why he hadn't simply walked halfway across a room to the sofa instead… but part of her was grateful he hadn't.</p><p>What he had said and done for her last night, and what she had told him in return…</p><p>Though she'd been exhausted at the time, she could instantly recall the exchange.</p><p>
  <em>I'll help you. Whatever it is. Whatever you need. I </em>
  <strong>
    <em>will.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>As she gazed at him, a dizzying, confusing wave of emotion surged through her chest. This Draco had always been so unbelievably giving, so open and perceptive with her. He didn't hide his concerns from her; in fact, he usually seemed to do the very opposite: let her see exactly what was worrying him.</p><p>After Pansy had so strongly vouched for his caring personality a few weeks earlier, Hermione had thought he did the same with everyone. But after the exchange she'd just had with the same woman, a small part of Hermione wondered if perhaps that wasn't the case. And, if it wasn't… what exactly did that mean? That Draco liked her less? Or that he…</p><p>Hermione's stomach twisted. She couldn't finish the thought; it would be far too confusing. And<em> highly improbable.</em></p><p>She suddenly remembered the warmth and refuge the sensation of Draco's arm around her shoulders had provided last night, his concerned eyes holding hers with the same intensity that she'd never been able to read or understand.</p><p>
  <em>Didn't mention he declared his undying love for My in fourth year, did he?</em>
</p><p>Hearing Harry's scornful voice echo mockingly in her mind suddenly trigged a memory of something else Pansy had told her about Draco:</p><p>
  <em>He never... seemed to overtly fancy anyone. But I know he did.</em>
</p><p><em>Merlin - </em>Why was she even letting this bother her?!There was no <em>bloody</em> way she was about to let Harry's ignorant and clearly malicious intimations affect her like this! She respected Draco incredibly and was more thankful than she could ever express for the unshakable friendship and support he unfailingly offered her at her most vulnerable moments. She absolutely refused to believe he was only doing it because he harboured some secret feelings for - for <em>My.</em></p><p>Hermione took a deep breath, nodding to herself.</p><p>Yes. Matter over mind; fact over fiction. That was all there was to it.</p><p>Quietly, she crossed the few feet to his bed, crouching beside it. She lifted her hand toward Draco's sleeping form…</p><p>But her fingers actually began to <em>tingle</em> a moment before she touched him.</p><p>Her hand froze, and her stomach clenched once more. She tried reaching for him again, but the sensation only grew more perceptible.</p><p>Swiftly, Hermione retracted her hand, the tips of her fingers uncertainly landing on her lips. Bloody Morgana and all the witches, what was <em>wrong</em> with her? How many times had she roused Harry and Ron from sleep like this — sometimes with a very hard hit on the shoulder, even? She'd had no trouble levitating Draco onto the bed that morning, no trouble spreading healing cream on his wounds when he was only half-conscious, no trouble cradling his face when he was in agonising pain while she was frantically trying to determine how best to put an end to it —</p><p>
  <em>No! Pull yourself together, Hermione!</em>
</p><p>She set her jaw stubbornly, shaking her head. She absolutely did <em>not</em> have the time or emotional energy for this! According to the opinion of an entire herd of centaurs, she'd suddenly become some sort of catalyst for change in this despotic society, literally overnight. Despite the fact that there were clear logic holes the size of Jupiter as to exactly how that conjecture had originated in the first place, living beings had <em>died</em> for that belief. Hermione couldn't afford to lose her focus.</p><p>So whatever it was that was bubbling around her gut and her hand was just going to have to bloody well <em>go away.</em></p><p>Hermione reached out and shook his shoulder gently. "Draco."</p><p>When he didn't stir, she shook him a bit harder. <em>"Draco!"</em></p><p>His grey eyes flew open, and he jolted awake, looking panicked.</p><p>"No, no, it's alright," Hermione whispered quickly. She lay her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "It's me. It's just me."</p><p>Draco's eyes found hers. The tension visibly vanished from his body as quickly as it'd come. "Hermione?" he croaked, his voice thick with sleep.</p><p>"Yeah. I'm so sorry to wake you like this," she said apologetically. "Harry's insisting we speak about your father now. He's being surreptitiously urgent about it, but we do need to discuss it, and, well — I can only imagine you'd want to be part of that."</p><p>For only moment, he looked startled. "Yes, I... I do. Of course I do." He slowly pushed himself up, still looking only half-awake. "What… time is it?"</p><p>Hermione muttered a charm. "Three twenty one," she reported unnecessarily when the numbers 15:21 floated from the tip of her wand.</p><p>"Three twenty… Merlin." Draco shoved a hand shakily through his limp hair, then swung his feet around to the ground. "I don't think I've slept that well since…" Suddenly, he looked swiftly around his surroundings in bewilderment, then squinted up at her, concern in his eyes. "Didn't you — Correct me if I'm wrong, but I quite recall you taking sole proprietorship of the bed last night," he shook his head slightly, "or I was <em>far</em> more exhausted than even I thought I was…"</p><p>Hermione couldn't help but hold back a smile at his sleep-induced confusion. "You didn't honestly think I was going to leave you on the floor when I got up, did you?"</p><p>"I honestly doubt I was thinking much of anything by that point this morning," he responded, standing. He winced when his weight landed on his right leg, and Hermione made a note to look into some long-term potions for the improperly healed break as he gingerly walked over to a small trunk of My's that Hermione had lent him, at the foot of the bed. He glanced at her and hesitated, then pulled off the jumper he was wearing, revealing a grey t-shirt beneath, the first time she'd seen him in a shirt that didn't cover the almost tattoo-like, scarred length of his arms.</p><p>He looked over at her again. "Thanks for not dropping me in transit, by the way. Thoughtful on your part."</p><p>She crossed her arms. "Who's to say I didn't?"</p><p>Draco studied her face for a moment, long enough that the infuriating wrench in her gut happened <em>again, </em>then shook his head. "No. You'd be acting a bit more shifty right now if you had." He crouched down to open the trunk. It held a decent amount of clothing, and Hermione felt a brief rush of appreciation toward Harry for lending him so much. "You'd be doing that… thing with your eyes."</p><p>She stared at him. "What <em>thing</em> with my eyes?"</p><p>He quickly folded the jumper he'd been wearing. "Whenever you're feeling guilty about something. You—" He glanced up at her piercingly inquisitive gaze and stopped suddenly. "No. You know what, I'm not going to tell you. You'll start over-thinking it, and it's nothing, really."</p><p>"You can't just say that to me and then expect me to leave it!" Hermione exclaimed. "What thing with my eyes?!"</p><p>"Nothing!" Draco exclaimed with a small laugh, holding up his hands. But when he saw how concerned she was, his smile tempered. "I promise, Hermione, I really do. It's hardly noticeable," he said reassuringly. "I doubt…" He trailed off as he pulled a different sweater over his head, this one green. "You've managed to survive this long without anyone else picking up on it," he said once his head reemerged. "I'm certain this'll fly under the radar as well." He paused. "For now."</p><p>When the small smile at his lips revealed he was still joking, Hermione glared at him. "Oh, aren't you just a bag full of giggles today," she said sarcastically.</p><p>He smiled in amusement. "I am rather, aren't I?" He closed the trunk with a snap; when he stood, the twinkle in his eyes had faded slightly. "How'd everything go earlier?" he asked quietly.</p><p>Hermione sighed, deciding to allow the matter to slip… for now. "Fine, I think. But…" She hesitated. "Any public event here's always such a shock, you know? Just another opportunity for me to run into more people I once knew who've morphed into completely depraved strangers here." She knew she was thinking of Kingsley, and trailed off. She glanced at Draco nervously before looking away. "Anyway, I… really have you to thank for… getting me prepared for that." She shook her head. "I couldn't have fallen asleep last night on my own."</p><p>"Oh, I think you're underestimating yourself." Draco stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, his eyes on the floor, before they raised to her; when he spoke, his voice was low. "But you're welcome, Hermione."</p><p>She stared at him. Her mouth opened to respond, but the words caught in her throat, and she didn't want to consider why.</p><p>He walked over to her. "I meant what I said," he continued just as quietly. "If you need anything—"</p><p>"I know." Hermione prepared himself for the soft intensity she knew she would find in his grey eyes and returned her own to meet it. "I meant it, too."</p><p>Draco gazed down at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, then nodded. "Then I should thank you for that as well." After a moment, he glanced out toward the entrance to the common room, where Hermione know Harry was probably waiting extremely impatiently. "Do you have any idea what he has planned? About my — about him."</p><p>"None at all." Hermione swallowed hard and followed his gaze with a frown. "But I already know we aren't going to like it."</p>
<hr/><p>Pansy and Harry were sitting closely on the couch when Draco and Hermione emerged, the two of them speaking to each other in hushed voices. They looked up, and Hermione staunchly ignored the knowing gaze Harry was throwing her. She and Draco each took an armchair, Hermione levitating hers close to his so it faced the others. Just to be safe, she muttered a few extra Muffling charms, on top of the twenty other protection spells she'd already cast around the common room, before Harry promptly began.</p><p>"As all of us here now know, Lucius Malfoy is being kept at Hogwarts, his memory has been wiped, and it once possessed some incredibly important knowledge the Sovereignty would dearly like to get its hands on." Harry looked at Draco. "As I've already told Pansy and Hermione, the Sovereignty's spent the past decade perfecting a potion that can restore a severely damaged memory. I've been able to obtain some of it. Our goal—"</p><p>"Sorry, how did you manage to do that again?" Hermione interrupted. Harry shot her a disgruntled look, and hesitated long enough in his response that she continued, "Look, I'm sorry; I appreciate your need to be secretive, but if you're asking me to risk the lives and limbs of not only myself but of Pansy and Draco, both of whom are also linked to me, you've got to give me something to go on."</p><p>His jaw clenched in displeasure. "Severus Snape's brewing it," he finally said grudgingly.</p><p>Hermione nodded. That made sense to her, though nothing else about it did. "And you and Snape are close, are you?" she asked dubiously, recalling how much the two hated each other in her world.</p><p>Harry shrugged. "He's my godfather; he doesn't exactly suspect me of snooping whenever I come around."</p><p>Her lips parted in shock at his casual declaration of a very non-casual revelation.</p><p>But — Snape — <em>really? </em>How had he been made Harry's godfather over Sirius? Harry Potter had mentioned once that Snape had known his mother, but surely even with this universe as different as it was, some kind of rivalry with Harry's father would have still existed to have made that arrangement impossible here…</p><p>Draco suddenly put his hand on the arm of her chair, leaning over toward her. "You're still gaping," he whispered in a low enough voice she doubted either Harry or Pansy could hear.</p><p>Hermione quickly closed her mouth, blinking rapidly. Harry gave her a strange look and took advantage of her astonished silence to continue, "As I was saying, our goal is to administer the potion to Malfoy at midnight tonight. That's when the prefect and faculty patrols switch, so there's less of a chance we'll be noticed. A round-the-clock student curfew's in effect until tomorrow for the initial Hangar investigation, so I don't anticipate running into any issues from that end."</p><p>Draco winced. "Never say that; the most foolproof plans are the ones with the greatest likelihood of falling apart." He sat up; Hermione noticed his hands were tensely holding the edge of the armrests despite his easygoing demeanour. "Anyway, if the potion's ready, how do you know the Sovereignty won't be doing the same thing?"</p><p>"My mother's been a central part of the Lucius Malfoy investigation. Tonight's her annual Muggle-born Witches International Benefit Gala; they host it every year at our estate. It usually extends well past midnight. Normally—" he shot a look at Hermione, "—we would have attended, but with the explosion, I told her you and I thought it would be best if we stayed here to support the school."</p><p>Hermione's eyebrows raised. "Your mother holds <em>benefits?"</em> She had a difficult time imagining Lily Evans supporting <em>any</em> goodwill cause, let alone Hogwarts allowing students to skip out of school during the week for it.</p><p>Harry gave her a withering look. "She isn't going to miss either event, so common sense dictates they won't coincide," he went impatiently. "We can disable the cameras in Malfoy's cell, but we need to administer the potion to him privately. We can't take the chance anything might still capture what he'll say. So the plan is this: Granger, at midnight tonight, I'll take Malfoy out of his cell to a safe room and administer the potion. You'll stand watch near the statue; if it looks like anyone's coming there specifically, you'll initiate a distraction while I bring him back. Simple. Straightforward. In and out."</p><p>Hermione waited. When he didn't say anything else, she said, "Is that it? Which "safe room" did you have in mind, precisely? And how exactly am I supposed to distract someone like Shacklebolt or your <em>mother?"</em></p><p>"You were doing a ruddy good job distracting him during the assembly today," he noted.</p><p>Pansy and Draco visibly stiffened, and Hermione suddenly realized her mistake.</p><p>"He's — Shacklebolt's — here?" Pansy asked quietly. She'd paled dramatically in a matter of seconds.</p><p>Hermione could have banged her head on the side of the chair. "Don't worry; he's only been focused on the Hangar investigation," she said reassuringly. "He's the Minister for Magical Investigation and Incident Response now. The Agency for Conservative Management's actually been dissolved."</p><p>A statement she'd hoped would be comforting instead caused Pansy's face to fall. "Of course it has been," she murmured quietly.</p><p>Harry shot Hermione a dirty look; she tried to ignore it. "You still haven't told me where you're taking him," she said to him. She frowned. "And what we'll even be doing with this information once we get it."</p><p>He sat back, seeming unconcerned. "No, I haven't, Granger, and I don't plan to, either. You and your posse might have operated on a "tell all" basis in your world, but it doesn't work that way here. If one of us gets caught in the middle of this, or interrogated, knowing less will both protect us, and everyone else."</p><p>"I'm sorry, I disagree," she said flatly. "I rather think the more we all know, the less chance we have of being caught in the first place!"</p><p>"I'm not willing to bend on this, Granger," he responded.</p><p>Hermione crossed her arms. "Well then, perhaps <em>I'm</em> not willing to help you!"</p><p><em>"And </em>on that note, let's all remember we share a common goal," Draco interjected, giving her a pointed look.</p><p>Harry looked over at him, his eyebrows flying up. "Oh, I'd love to know what you think that is, Malfoy," he said sarcastically.</p><p>Draco returned his hard gaze unflinchingly. "Remaining undetected."</p><p>After a moment of male roostering, Harry grunted in acknowledgement of that. "Malfoy… isn't far from the truth," he said begrudgingly, looking for all the world as if he'd swallowed a toad. "The Sovereignty can't have any idea a single thing's amiss; the entire plan rests on it."</p><p>"Well then, I already see a gaping hole in your simple, straightforward plan," Hermione cut in. "I can but only imagine the Sovereignty will know immediately the potion's already been administered. Even if they didn't — even if you Obliviated Draco's father again, which I'm not saying we should," she said with a quick glance at Draco, "they'll just re-administer the potion and have their answers almost as soon as we do. On top of that, they'll know we've done it, too. And then what happens to Lucius Malfoy? What happens to us?"</p><p>For a few beats longer than necessary, Harry's gaze cagily shifted from Hermione to Draco, and back to Hermione again, and in a rush of dread, Hermione suddenly knew what he was going to say before he even voiced it.</p><p>Draco must have picked up on the same signals she had, because he leapt to his feet.</p><p>"You've <em>got</em> to be kidding me, Evans," he hissed forcefully. "That is absolutely out of the question!"</p><p>"It's our only option," Harry retorted. "It'll be quick and painless. An untraceable poison; he'll appear to have died naturally, in his sleep."</p><p>"Right," Draco said so agreeably Hermione had to look twice at him, but his hard gaze contradicted his light tone. "Of course. Bravo; airtight plan. I've just one question for you, then: Are you bloody well <em>insane</em>?" he exploded. "You're talking about murdering my father!"</p><p>"Bollocks. He'll give his life for a cause he loved; I've no doubt he'd choose to do the same if he was made aware of the situation."</p><p>Draco stared at him, horror etched across his thin face. "You have no foundation to make that claim! And if you think I'm going to - to give you some sort of <em>blessing</em> to kill him, then you're sorely mistaken!"</p><p>Harry stood challengingly. "Hate to break it to you, Malfoy, but you don't have magic. Your stamp of approval isn't needed."</p><p>"No!" Pansy said suddenly, grabbing Harry's arm. "No. He's right, Harry; this is mad. Yes, it might be an <em>option,</em> but that's all it is. It's far too awful of one for us to possibly consider using!" She shook her head fiercely, her blue eyes distressed. "We can't. It'll make us just like they are, and we can't become that, Harry; we can't stoop to that level."</p><p>Now that Pansy had entered the fray, Harry rubbed his forehead, looking besieged. "I'm sorry, Liv. Like it or not, this is the plan, and it's happening in seven hours."</p><p>"Don't apologise to me, Harry Evans; apologise to the man whose father you're prepared to execute!" she exclaimed sternly. "There's a whole lot of brilliant minds in this circle. Come on, everyone. Let's think. He can't disappear outright, of course; Hermione had a point there — they'd just come after Draco to try to lure Lucius back. But—"</p><p>"I'd much rather that than <em>euthanizing</em> my father!" Draco exclaimed.</p><p>Pansy shook her head. "No. There have to be more choices, haven't there? Why can't we all just leave? Go out through the Hogsmeade tunnel and Apparate somewhere safe?"</p><p>"Nowhere's safe when the entire might of the Sovereignty is barrelling down on your head; you know that, Pansy," Harry said in a low voice. "The only advantage we have is that of surprise. If we take this information and run, whatever it is, we won't be equipped to withstand them, and that intelligence, and our lives, will be lost. I'm not willing to sacrifice that for the life of one man." He shot a hard gaze at Draco; what little colour the blond had to his face had all but drained from it. "No matter who that man is, you can't say you disagree with that logic, Malfoy."</p><p>"No, Evans, I don't disagree with the bloody <em>logic, </em>but some things in life far outweigh pragmatism. What do you expect me to say? 'Oh, of course; go right ahead?' " Draco sank back down into his chair and took a heavy breath, folding his hands tightly in front of him. "Perhaps we're looking at this incorrectly. What if the intel my father knows turns out to be unimportant after all? If it doesn't matter, then maybe—"</p><p>Harry shook his head, cutting him off. "The Sovereignty'll still kill him. Even more readily, if that's the case."</p><p>Draco blinked blearily, burying his face in his hands. "This is such a mess," he mumbled.</p><p>"There could be another way," Hermione murmured suddenly. She'd been wracking her brain for a different alternative the moment their discussion had descended into chaos. Pansy's mention of not making Lucius Malfoy disappear outright had triggered her memory of a spell she'd encountered some weeks earlier. It hadn't been exactly what Hermione had been looking for, so she hadn't taken the time to read much about it… but what she remembered was enough.</p><p>Draco looked toward her swiftly. "What did you say?" he whispered, his voice taut with hope.</p><p>"I'm fairly certain, there's another way," Hermione repeated more confidently, looking up at them. "It isn't perfect, but it could work. <em>No one </em>is dying for this information. Not us, and not your father." She looked reassuringly to Draco's drawn face before shooting a tense look at Harry. "No one."</p><p>Harry sat up, looking at her gruffly. "Well? What's your genius proposal?"</p><p>She pressed her lips together, frowning at his tone. "It's called the Shadow Double — <em>L'ombre deuxième.</em> It's an extremely obsolete Haitian Vodou spell, so I'd reckon the likelihood of anyone guessing we're using it is extremely low. Its actual purpose is to create a fully-functioning second body of a person - hence, the "shadow double." That shadow body looks completely human, but it's only a shell: the spell caster has full power over it. It's particularly dark because the original subject of the spell would also feel whatever was done to the shadow."</p><p>Harry'd straightened even more, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And why exactly did you feel the need to educate yourself on the Vodou Dark Arts?"</p><p>Hermione returned his sceptical gaze undauntedly. "I came across it when I was researching… how I may have been transferred here." She stopped short of saying what she had really been researching was how to escape back to Universe A. "In any case, using the spell tonight should buy us time - let us plant a living, breathing double in Malfoy's cell until we can plan our next move. If it's done right, we should even be able to feed the Sovereignty false information when they do administer the Shadow the potion." She glanced over at Draco, who was already looking at her intently. "And your father would be safe. If anyone threatens the Shadow, we could just unlink the two."</p><p><em>In theory, at least, </em>she thought.</p><p>Draco's grey eyes locked her in place with a gratefulness so profound she could actually <em>feel</em> it from where she sat. But before she could so much as give him a reassuring nod, he looked back toward the group. "We'd still need a place to hide him where the Sovereignty wouldn't come across him," he thought aloud, his expression pensive. "What about the Room of Requirements?"</p><p>Hermione shook her head. "The Room may be our best bet tonight, but I'm not entirely comfortable with leaving him there in the long run; I can't guarantee no one else will discover him while he's in it." She paused. "There is… another problem," she said slowly. "Even though we'd be using this for good, <em>l'ombre deuxième</em> is an extremely powerful dark curse. It's something only a wizard like Dum— only an unspeakably powerful wizard could perform. It's built on several fundamental Dark Arts curses, including the Imperius. That's one spell I've <em>never</em> been able to complete; I assure you I am not prepared to cast something like this tonight."</p><p>Harry glanced at his watch. "Doesn't matter. You won't be the one doing it."</p><p>Hermione stared at him in surprise as he reached over and squeezed Pansy's hand, then stood. Harry was a powerful wizard in his own right — for Merlin's sake, he'd defeated a dark lord in her world, and she didn't doubt he might be capable of the same here. But she was afraid this spell was beyond even him.</p><p>"I have to leave," he announced. "My dinner patrol starts in ten minutes and ends at eight. We'll regroup here at eleven; I need to do some prep work beforehand." He leveled a grave expression in her direction. "Get me that book immediately, Granger."</p><p>"It's extremely difficult dark magic, Harry," she said tensely.</p><p>He shook his head. "I don't care. Find it. If this spell works like you say it does and it's possible to perform, then the plan doesn't change except for your part. Instead of waiting until I return Malfoy, you'll have to check that his Shadow's been transferred there successfully."</p><p>Hermione nodded, standing. "Done. I remember the general area it was located; I should have it to you within the hour."</p><p>Draco and Pansy had stood as well.</p><p>"What can we do to help?" Draco asked.</p><p>Harry glanced toward him. "Absolutely nothing," he said brusquely. "Stay here and don't get any emotional ideas beyond hoping this works."</p><p>Draco's jaw visibly tightened. "Right then," he said tightly. "I suppose I'll just go sit and <em>twiddle my thumbs</em> while my father's fate hangs in the balance."</p><p>"Please do. That's about the only thing you're capable of now anyway; it's better you accept it sooner than later."</p><p>Hermione gaped at Harry in shock. Merlin, had he taken <em>nothing</em> from their earlier conversation? She opened her mouth to unleash a tirade, but she was shocked again when Pansy beat her to it.</p><p>"Oh, for Merlin's<em> sake, </em>Harry, <em>stop </em>it!" she exclaimed, actually pushing his shoulder hard before she looked over at Draco, her blue eyes deeply apologetic. "Draco, don't mind him. He's being a complete arse, and he knows it," she added, shooting Harry an unhappy look before she returned her attention to her friend, who hadn't moved since Harry's last comment. "I'll wait with you the entire time. It'll all be alright; if anyone can do this, Harry and Hermione can."</p><p>Draco looked between the two of them, his frame tense. "Waiting." He nodded heavily, sighing, before his shoulders sank. "Right."</p><p>Without another glance over at Hermione or the unlikely pairing of his best friend and Hermione's former one, he turned and trudged up the stairs to Hermione's room. Harry's gaze followed him momentarily, before he turned impassively and headed for the portrait hole. Hermione glared exasperatedly at his back and shared a concerned look with Pansy before trailing after Draco.</p><p>The Slytherin was standing stiffly at the window overlooking the grounds with his arms crossed tightly, staring out into the dimming evening. He didn't turn when she entered.</p><p>Hermione sighed. "Draco—"</p><p>"No. Don't." Draco shook his head. "I just — I can't keep doing this, Hermione. I can't keep <em>waiting</em> here endlessly hoping for even the most minute bit of news while I'm — I'm bloody powerless to do anything else." He spun toward her, his expression no longer resigned but desperate. "I need something to do. For the love of all things good, <em>give</em> me something to do. Finish your homework, move your furniture, research the latest surveillance technology, throw every scrap of clothing off your shelves and fold it all up again — Anything. <em>Please."</em></p><p>Wild pleading raged in his eyes, and in them Hermione saw the exact desperation she had felt the multiple times the Order of the Phoenix, or Dumbledore or the Weasleys, had had to extract Harry Potter from a situation without taking her or Ron along. The wait from their departure to their return had been positively <em>agonising.</em> She would have given anything for them to take her with them instead. She would have risked everything to help her best friend. But this wasn't just Draco's friend — it was his father.</p><p>Hermione briefly closed her eyes. Oh, this had the potential to go so horribly wrong…</p><p>She looked back at Draco before common sense spurred her to change her mind. "Come with me tonight."</p><p>Draco blinked at her. For a moment, his lips parted; his mouth opened and closed before he asked, "W— What? I mean, are you — I won't… be in the way?"</p><p>Hermione shook her head. "I can't constantly watch the Marauder's Map and cast distraction spells if I need to at the same time," she said logically. Well, she probably could, but…<em> "</em>You can help keep watch." She smiled weakly. "Anyway, having someone else with me'll help calm <em>my</em> nerves."</p><p>He stood stock still, disbelief scrawled across his face. Then he crossed the room toward her in five wide steps, reached down, and took her hand in both of his, holding it tightly. <em>"Thank </em>you," he breathed solemnly.</p><p>Warmth radiated up her arm. Her chest constricted. "You're welcome," she said, searching his deeply relieved expression. She curled her fingers around his, squeezing his hand back reassuringly. "It's a good plan, Draco. It should work." As his eyes turned troubled, she added, "And even if something comes up, we're resourceful; we can adapt if we need to."</p><p>Draco shook his head. "It isn't that. It's just…" He let out a shuddery breath, lowering his gaze. "Hermione, what do you say to a man you've barely spoken to who doesn't even remember you're his own son?" he mumbled.</p><p>Hermione froze in place. At once, she was overcome with the memory of her parents' oblivious laughter only moments before she wiped their memories, and sent them on their way halfway around the world so they could be away from the Second Wizarding War, away from - <em>her.</em> In her absence, would Harry Potter have gone to retrieve them? Or were they still in a foreign place, living lives that were not their own?</p><p>Draco's face blurred before her, mingling with those of her parents. "I imagine you'll… say how much you love him, even if he doesn't know it," she said slowly. "You'll tell him how much you've missed him, how much you've always thought about him, how - how much you can't wait to live a life with him in it again." Her eyes began to burn, and she blinked rapidly, focusing back up on him. "Then be yourself. And I cannot imagine that any father wouldn't love you immediately."</p><p>For a moment, Draco simply stared at her, his gray eyes glistening. "Is that what you would say to your parents?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.</p><p>She nodded, sniffing once. "Yeah. It is."</p><p>He reached up, swiftly swiping with a thumb beneath his eyes, and Hermione realized with a violent start that their hands were still joined. Her breath caught, and she pulled away quickly, leaving a cold void around her fingers. Draco looked down in confusion, then stepped away from her just as rapidly, shoving his hands into his pockets.</p><p>"I — really should go," she said. "Harry's going to need all the practise he can get if he thinks he can perfect that spell by midnight."</p><p>"Right," he said, looking away from her. He cleared his throat, reaching up a hand to push it through his hair. "I'll just — I'll be here, then."</p><p>Hermione nodded and took a deep breath. She let it out slowly, moving toward the door. On second thought, she paused, and looked back at him. "I don't know if Pansy's told you, but there's a Disillusioned bookshelf to the left of the armchair. It's got several advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks from my world. If you're looking for something to do, you might…" She hesitated, trying to determine how best to say what she wanted to without providing false reassurances. "Well, one thing I've learned is that nothing's ever certain. Permanence doesn't always remain permanent." She met his gaze. "Your magic — It may not be gone forever. And if it returns… you should be ready."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some Universe B Fun Facts for your reading pleasure: </p><p>1. For anyone who might have wondered, I use two primary criteria when developing my "reversed" Universe B characters: 1) I make the people who were more inclined to be ethically "good" in Universe A more inclined to be ethically "bad" in Universe B, though the extreme to which that ethical propensity swings and the choice of whether or not each character will fall upon the conservative or Sovereign side is ultimately up to them and their personalities (e.g., Filch still self-identifies as a creepy jerk in both worlds; Universe B! Harry chooses to lean Lightward even though he hates using his decent side). 2) I build upon that based on each character's personal experiences and recent societal history and norms (i.e. Muggle-borns and the Dark Arts being given preference and the Light Arts and purebloods being shunned).</p><p>2. My entire AU world is ethically Reversed, Muggle side included. What this means is that in Uni!B, the conservatives / pure Light wizards / traditionally "decent people" are in the significant minority in Britain/the world, like the Death Eaters actually were in Universe A. The ethical standards of the rest of the general population leans more toward some if not a decent propensity for moral corruption (versus here in Universe A, where I would say/hope the standard ethical inclination (or at least societal pressure to this end) tends to swing more toward what we might consider as 'good.'). So for the majority of Universe B people, their 'normal' morals in Universe B would equate 'questionable' morals in Universe A.</p><p>This is why systemically approving widespread use of the Dark Arts, which can so easily corrupt, is particularly dangerous in Uni!B.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. There And Back Again - Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Hermione thought the spare Dark Arts classroom was disturbing enough during the daytime, the eerie silence of the room at midnight was far worse. Only a sliver of torchlight spilled inside the door from the corridor beyond, falling upon a few broken desks, some abandoned candles, and a number of splattered bloodstains someone had evidently forgotten to clean up.</p><p>Swallowing back nausea, Hermione vanished the blood and finished placing a number of protection charms around the doorway. Then she summoned the Wizex from her shrunken knapsack. "<em>Draco," </em>she whispered clearly.</p><p>With a tiny pop, he immediately appeared beside her, stumbling once before he caught himself on the doorframe.</p><p>Hermione instinctively reached for him, but her hand hesitated a millimetre from his shoulder. "Sorry; are you alright?"</p><p>Draco straightened gingerly. "You'd think when the Sovereign was inventing the House-Wizard bond he'd have been thoughtful enough to build a bloody pre-Apparition warning into it. I've no idea how House-Elves do it with such poise."</p><p>"I don't even know how you can joke about that," Hermione said tightly. "I told you, you could have walked down with—"</p><p>"No," Draco shook his head. "No, this is far easier than trying to fit the both of us under your Invisibility Cloak. The bond's exploiting me; we might as well exploit it." He peered around the door and into the torch-lined stone corridor. At the other end of it was the vampire statue that hid the passage to Lucius Malfoy's prison.</p><p>Except for the flickering lights, the entire hallway was still.</p><p>Draco placed his hand on the smooth stone, glancing above his head at the archway. "Muffling charms, I assume?"</p><p>She nodded. "And disillusionment charms. Anyone who looks inside should see an empty classroom."</p><p>"Unless they <em>enter</em> the classroom."</p><p>"For which we have this—" Hermione held up the Invisibility Cloak, "and this." She lifted her wand.</p><p>Draco smiled slightly. "Then heaven help anyone who breaches this door." But, as quickly as it appeared, the smile slipped from his face. He visibly hesitated, then turned back to look at the shadows of the spare classroom. He stiffened.</p><p>Ginevra had tortured him in the same space only a little over a week earlier.</p><p>"You're certain this is alright," Hermione said tentatively.</p><p>Draco didn't respond, his chest rising and falling in an extremely controlled rhythm. Finally, he said tautly, "It's a… bit smaller than I remember it." He blinked once, then turned back to her. "Right. How much time have we got?" he asked briskly.</p><p>Hermione took that as his answer. "Ten minutes." She pulled the Marauders' Map from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and held it out to him. "About the time to start monitoring this."</p><p>Draco took the folded parchment from her with a tense smile of thanks and produced a small penlight that looked like the one she'd given Pansy. He wandered a few steps away and shone it on the Map, his hand gripping the creased paper so tightly a part of Hermione was afraid he might crumple it.</p><p>He'd changed into all black clothing, the first time in Universe B she'd seen him in such a colour scheme. Merlin, with it, he really was the <em>spitting</em> image of the Draco Malfoy she'd known and hated — all that differed was his looser, longer hair and blatant facial scar it partially hid. Hermione shook her head in amazement. Six months ago, never in a thousand years would she have ever imagined she would someday look at that exact profile and feel<em> — feel —</em></p><p>Before Hermione could finish the thought, she realized with a lurch she was staring at him.</p><p>She hastily looked away away and gripped two<em> Puking Pastilles</em> in her pocket, mentally repeating her distraction alibi once more. Heaven forbid she would have to use it, but she needed to be ready if she did. She'd decided a Portable Swamp or any other form of anonymous sabotage wasn't an option: with the Hangar explosion fresh in everyone's minds, it would only lend evidence to the possibility that the "accident" had been deliberately caused by someone other than Hagrid, Fred and George, potentially spurring a disastrous full-on investigation of the student body.</p><p>No, a simple but severe bout of illness — such as continuous vomiting — would be the most surefire way to temporarily lead the subject of her distraction, whether it was McGonagall or even Lily Evans, out of the area and to the Hospital Wing.</p><p>Thankfully, activity at the castle seemed fairly slow that evening. She'd noticed while carefully perusing the Marauders' Map earlier that even the number of investigators at the Hangar had dwindled significantly. From the way Kingsley had gone on that afternoon, she'd assumed they'd be working around the clock to take advantage of the forty-eight hour student curfew, but she supposed they also needed to sleep at some poi—</p><p>
  <em>Granger. Do you copy?</em>
</p><p>Hermione jerked, then fumbled with her wand for a second before she remembered Harry's instructions on how to respond to his voice… in her head. At her scrabbling, Draco looked up at her, his gaze concerned.</p><p>She gestured at her ear. "Thought transmitter," she explained.</p><p>He chuckled, returning his attention back to the map. "You're handling that well. Merlin knows what I'd do if I suddenly heard Evans' vainglorious voice in my head."</p><p>
  <em>Granger!</em>
</p><p>Hermione winced. <em>"Bloody — </em>Sorry, he's resorted to bellows for attention." She turned toward the corridor and swiftly reached her first two fingers to her skull directly behind her earlobe, pressing a tiny circle of felt fuzz she'd placed there only a half hour earlier.</p><p><em>Yes, I'm here! </em>she thought vexedly. <em>And I'd rather you didn't shout in my head, thanks </em><strong><em>very</em></strong><em> much!</em></p><p><em>Well, respond quicker, then, </em>he retorted.</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes in irritation. She glanced down at the face of the Wizex, which she'd shrunk to fit her wrist. <em>You're early. Has something changed?</em></p><p><em>No. I'm confirming again that our maps match.</em> <em>I don't want us marching to the beat of different drummers. </em>Harry was as adept shouting orders mentally as he was in person.<em> I've got Ioan Jodprey finishing up prefect rounds by the Trophy Room and McGonagall moving inside the Headmistress Office. Everyone else is where they should be, target area speaking.</em></p><p>Hermione relayed his words to Draco. After a few seconds, he nodded. "We're the same." He flipped the parchment over, running his fingers over the folds until he stopped at the bottom left corner. Hermione had discovered earlier that their particular corridor was split between both sides of the map, which made it highly inconvenient to simultaneously keep a careful eye on both hallways feeding into either end of it. "No one's approaching from the west, either."</p><p><em>We're a match, Harry, </em>she thought.</p><p>
  <em>Good. I'll come by at the prearranged time, then. Keep an eye on McGonagall.</em>
</p><p>The foreign voice in her mind ceased, the classroom abnormally silent in comparison. The skin-coloured communication device was another apparently unreleased invention from the Ministry of Muggle-Magical Technology Integration. Harry had ambiguously described how he'd oh-so-conveniently nicked a set during a tour he'd taken of their R&amp;D Office that summer for "career considerations."</p><p>Between those and the memory restorative potion, all his explanations seemed too extraordinarily convenient. Hermione knew he was deliberately withholding critical information from her, and she hated that. To begin with, Snape seemed as shrewd — if not more so — in this world as he was in hers. She doubted he would make it so easy for anyone to waltz along and help themselves to this invaluable potion, even his - his <em>godson. </em>So how had Harry really managed to get his hands on some of it?</p><p>Hermione leaned against the doorframe and surveyed the empty corridor, crossing her arms to ward off the disconcerted edge creeping into her stomach. Harry had said something else earlier that bothered her equally — something about pieces moving of which she had no awareness. At the time, she'd been too incensed for other reasons to pursue the comment, but now she couldn't shake the words from her mind. <em>What </em>did he plan to do with Lucius Malfoy's secrets once they learned them? And, perhaps just as importantly,<em> to whom</em> would they be providing it?</p><p>"You look like you're severely rethinking this," Draco noted quietly.</p><p>Hermione refocused back on him in surprise. At some point, he'd come to stand across from her in the doorframe, probably so he could have a view of the hallway as well. "I'm not," she said quickly.</p><p>"You without a doubt most certainly are." He scanned her face, his own filled with concern. "Why?"</p><p>Merlin, there again was that confidence he'd always had, that he - that he <em>knew</em> her <em>that well.</em> Hermione supposed he really did now, but it jarred a memory from the night before that she'd almost forgotten.</p><p>"How did you know?" she asked, perplexed.</p><p>Draco froze. His brow furrowed. "How'd I know… what?" he asked slowly.</p><p>"Druridge Bay," she said. When he still seemed uncertain, she explained, "Druridge Bay, Northumberland is one of my favourite places in the entire world. When you had me… imagine that beach, last night, you described it… perfectly. Down to that ratty old blanket my grandmum made." She become more astonished as she recounted it. "How did you… <em>know </em>that?"</p><p>He blinked rapidly. "I - I—"</p><p>
  <em>Granger.</em>
</p><p>Hermione jumped as Harry's voice in her head said matter-of-factly, <em>I'm going in now. I'll cover my own path. Let me know immediately if we have a threat at the statue.</em></p><p>Her attention zoomed back out to the dim hallway. Well, despite her doubts… it was too late to abandon the plan now.</p><p>She reached up to her ear. <em>Right.</em></p><p>"We're on," she whispered to Draco.</p><p>After a beat, Draco said in a low voice, "He's passing us right now."</p><p>Hermione shifted slightly so she was standing right at the edge of the open door, holding her wand tightly. But she neither saw nor heard anyone — Harry, of course, was also wearing his Invisibility Cloak. She pressed the transmitter. <em>Harry? Do you notice us at all?</em></p><p>After a pause, he responded, <em>No. I wouldn't have even looked that way if you hadn't reminded me. Your protection charms are strong; good.</em></p><p>Some seconds after, he reported, <em>Granger. I'm going in.</em></p><p>Hermione knew Harry must have already used his own map to make that decision, but she glanced at Draco regardless. "He's entering. No one's coming?"</p><p>Draco flipped the parchment over so he could examine the other end of the hallway, holding the penlight closely to the left corner. "Yes. Not within walking distance, at least. McGonagall's still in her office."</p><p><em>We're keeping watch on the halls, </em>she thought to Harry.</p><p>In the distance, she could just hear the vampire statue slowly scrape open, and close again.</p><p>Except for their breathing, and Draco's somewhat frequent flipping of the map, only a stiff west wind pummelling the castle could be faintly heard. As the minutes passed, Hermione kept a tight grip on her wand with one hand and the <em>Puking Pastilles </em>with the other. She glanced briefly at Draco, but his eyes remained locked on the creased expanse of parchment, his long fingers spread between what she imagined were key points on it.</p><p>"Can you ask how it's going?" he eventually murmured tensely.</p><p>Hermione nodded understandingly and put a hand up to her ear. <em>Harry. What's your status?</em></p><p>He didn't respond for several seconds. <em>I'm replacing the wards, </em>his voice thought. <em>I'll be bringing him out under the Cloak, so don't throw a wobbly thinking I'm alone.</em></p><p>She frowned. <em>What do you mean, you'll be 'bringing him out?'</em></p><p>Harry sounded impatient. <em>You don't actually think I've left him </em><strong><em>conscious</em></strong><em> for all of this, do you?</em></p><p>Hermione pressed her lips together disapprovingly; of course he would jump at the opportunity to take the less humane course of action. She glanced at Draco, who was watching her intently. "Everything's fine," she said in a low voice. "You're father's going to be — under the Invisibility Cloak."</p><p>"He stunned him, didn't he?" Drco asked flatly.</p><p>Hermione hesitated, unwilling to lie to him but reluctant to cause him further concern. "He didn't say."</p><p>Which was true.</p><p>A dull, distant scraping briefly drew their gazes back to the corridor — the statue was opening back up. Draco tensed even more, if that was possible, and Hermione quickly nodded toward the Marauders' Map, if only to help get his mind on something else. "What about McGonagall… is she still in her office?"</p><p>He flipped it over, scanning it briefly. "Yes." Worry creased his forehead. "Isn't it a bit late for her to be working?"</p><p>"I imagine with this sort of disaster comes a lot of paperwork and press releases," she said logically. "Anyway, last night she seemed like she'd still been awake when… "</p><p>Harry casually walked past their doorway then, and she trailed off. He was holding the lit end of his wand above his own Marauders' Map, his face completely unconcerned in the torchlight of the hall. He appeared for all the world as though he was simply out for a casual stroll.</p><p>Hermione pressed the Thought Transmitter. <em>Good luck, </em>she thought.</p><p>She saw him reach up to his ear a second before he turned the corridor. <em>I'd prefer to leave luck out of it, </em>he snapped back. <em>I'll be in touch.</em></p><p>Silence descended back on the hall.</p><p>"This is strange," Draco said after a few minutes, a taut edge to his casual tone. In two steps, he'd crossed to her side of the doorway and tilted the map toward her, gesturing toward the right corner. "Look. Shacklebolt is literally the only person at the Hangar site right now. Two hours ago, the place was crawling with Sovereignty agents. Why would he send them away?"</p><p>Hermione's forehead creased. "I noticed their numbers were decreasing earlier as well, but I didn't think they'd leave the scene entirely."</p><p>"Or that Shacklebolt would stay. Alone. Something about this isn't right, Hermione."</p><p>Hermione shook her head, frowning. "Even if they think the explosion was an accident, it's still a major disaster site. I cannot believe they'd abandon it entirely," she said nervously. "At the very least, they'd post a few sentries there around the clock." No, the Minister of Investigation there by himself, so late at night? <em>That</em> was concerning. "Perhaps they do have sentries — creatures, not people," she proposed. "The Map wouldn't be able to read them."</p><p>"Yes, but that doesn't explain Shacklebolt." Draco shook his head, his expression deeply ruminative. "The only supposition I can come up with is that he wants to be alone to conduct his own…"</p><p>He stopped speaking abruptly.</p><p>"His own investigation," Hermione breathed in realization. Worry twisted, knife-like, in her gut, and her heart began to pound rapidly. Swiftly, she locked eyes with his visibly troubled ones. "You don't think he suspects it was anything other than an accident, do you?"</p><p>The apprehensive lines around Draco's eyes immediately softened. He dropped his hand with the penlight, lightly resting his fingers on the side of her wrist. "Whatever it is he's doing, I'm certain it won't involve you."</p><p>But what if it did? What if the Sovereignty had partnered with Muggle forensics to develop the capability to trace any magical residue back to its caster? What if they had begun to question why none of the surveillance cameras had captured the rampaging trolls in action? What if they wondered why every single animal in the Hangar managed to escape the building before it exploded?</p><p>She suddenly felt the desire to flee, though where, she didn't know. "Where's Harry? Have they made it to the Room of Requirements yet?" she asked tensely.</p><p>Draco returned the penlight to the parchment, pouring over the map. His brow furrowed deeply. "No. They're still out." He gestured toward the centre of the Map, sounding baffled. "There. Outside the Duelling classroom."</p><p>"The <em>Duelling</em> classroom?" Hermione echoed in disbelief. That wasn't anywhere near the most direct route to the Room of Requirements. She shoved herself alongside him so she could peer down at the map as well, then reached a finger behind her ear. <em>Harry, where in the </em><strong><em>bloody</em></strong><em> hell do you think you're going? Tell me the entire plan, now!</em></p><p>Her words summoned no response.</p><p>
  <em>Harry—</em>
</p><p>A whisper of a <em>whoosh</em> and an abrupt depression in the air itself startled her from her one-sided correspondence.</p><p>Hermione jerked her gaze to the hall, just in time to see every ball of light from the torches lining the corridor simultaneously sail through the air toward a single point beyond the far end of the hallway, and vanish.</p><p>She was enveloped in blackness.</p><p>Hermione froze, clutching her wand in a death grip.</p><p>The air around her suddenly became as cold as ice.</p><p>
  <em>Oh damn.</em>
</p><p>"Draco…" she whispered in dread, "where's McGonagall?"</p><p>She heard him clicking the torch on and off, but no light appeared from it; the desperate noise sounded like a death knoll. He cursed. "Hermione—"</p><p>Before he could even voice the obvious problem, Hermione swiftly lit her wand and held it over the parchment. He flipped it over to the side bearing the Headmistress's Office. It was so cold now she could actually see her ragged breaths emerging in small puffs, which briefly disappeared entirely when he pointed to the last place McGonagall had been.</p><p>She wasn't there.</p><p>Hermione frenetically began to search the map, her frantic gaze tracing down every nearby hallway and corridor. "There," she said suddenly, pointing. "She's—"</p><p>She stopped speaking abruptly, gaping in arrant horror at the three labels floating closely together… on a very direct pathway to their location.</p><p>Draco's hand clutched her arm in an iron grip.</p><p>Such electric fear and shock exploded through her body that her mind careened to the edge of a blackout. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.</p><p>
  <em>Holy mother of Merlin.</em>
</p><p>They were coming for him.</p><p>Draco ripped down the map, grabbing her wrist. "We have to go," he said, pulling her toward the door. When she planted herself in place, he hissed, "Hermione! We have to go, now!"</p><p>"Not yet!" She quietly swung the Dark Arts door until it was nearly shut and pressed the Transmitter, her heart thudding so hard she felt each painfully bulging beat in her temples. <em>Harry? Harry, we have a massive problem; you have to do the spell </em><strong><em>now, </em></strong><em>right now! Harry? </em><strong><em>Harry!</em></strong></p><p>Sweet Merlin and all the ghosts… if Harry was still gallivanting around on the second floor rather than safely hunkered in the Room of Requirements casting the Shadow Double Curse…</p><p>They would never make the switch in time.</p><p>
  <em>Harry, where are you? </em>
  <strong>
    <em>Harry!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>"Damn it, the Transmitter's stopped working!" she exclaimed.</p><p>Draco shook her arm. "Hermione, forget it! It's too late, it's over!"</p><p>She ignored him and plunged her hand into her pocket, yanking out a Puking Pastille, her hand trembling so badly in the frigid room she nearly dropped it. Determinedly, if somewhat irrationally, she twisted the wrappings on it to unravel it —</p><p>Before she knew what was happening, Draco had captured both of her wrists in his hands and had pressed her against the classroom wall with a strength she'd never expected him to have. "No!" he hissed as heat exploded through her body. "Are you <em>mad?"</em></p><p>She struggled against him. "Draco! The distraction—"</p><p>"There is no bloody <em>distraction, </em>not with this!" The raw terror in his eyes sent the identical, cold emotion ripping through her chest. "He'll see right through you, right through me, right through these wards… They will know <em>everything</em>, Hermione! If we don't leave now, they'll—"</p><p>Hermione desperately ripped a hand free and pressed it against his mouth, in the same motion wandlessly extinguishing the light of her wand despite her protection wards.</p><p>In the distance, she could faintly hear the sound of muffled voices, though through the mostly-closed classroom door, she couldn't tell what they were saying.</p><p>Operating purely on instinct, she summoned the Invisibility Cloak with a pulse of her hand, and threw it over the both of them, then relit her wand under the Cloak's concealment. As if he knew what she was thinking, Draco lifted the Marauders' Map, grasping his violently shaking wrist with his other hand to steady it.</p><p>What Hermione saw on it confirmed her worst nightmare.</p><p>"Please keep walking, <em>please</em> keep walking…" she repeated over and over in the form of a prayer.</p><p>But she could only watch helplessly as <em>Minerva McGonagall</em>, <em>Lily Evans</em> and <em>Albus Dumbledore</em> entered Lucius Malfoy's empty cell.</p><hr/><p>In Hermione's nineteen years, she had faced down death on more occasions than she ever wanted to recount. But watching her entire life potentially unravel in front of her through a piece of parchment generated a strangely detached feeling of horror in her chest, as if she were following a fictional drama in a book or on a television show, not reality happening less than twenty-five metres away. She was unfamiliar with Dumbledore the Sovereign's character, so she was unable to fully conceive what might happen next… until Draco did for her.</p><p>"We have no more than fifteen seconds before the most powerful wizard the world has ever seen emerges from that tunnel in a cold rage," he said in a low voice, his extraordinarily composed tone veiling what his shaking hands could not.</p><p>Hermione blinked. "Right."</p><p>She yanked the map from him and shrank it, shoving it into her pocket. Without pause, she reached down and grasped his hand firmly, stretched her other hand toward the handle of the classroom door, and extinguished her wand light, though the Invisibility Cloak was still draped over the both of them.</p><p>The next hallway was only a few yards to their left: it led to the outer wings of the castle, to escape.</p><p>They just had to make it around the bend.</p><p>She steeled herself, clutching her wand. "I'm dropping the wards."</p><p>Draco's hand gripped hers back more tightly in response.</p><p>She took three rapid breaths and pulled open the door. They slipped past it and plunged into the utter blackness of the still-darkened corridor. With a wave of her wand, she dropped the protection charms around the doorway — she couldn't afford to leave them up for someone like Dumbledore or Lily Evans to find.</p><p>Instantaneously, every joyful emotion and thought she had was sucked from her body.</p><p>She gasped.</p><p>Draco's arm abruptly snaked around her waist, pulling her to a stop. <em>"Dementors,"</em> he breathed frantically in her ear, clasping her right hand so tightly it began to lose feeling.</p><p>But were they behind them — or in front of them?</p><p>Hermione desperately looked back in the direction she knew the vampire statue to be, but all she could see was darkness. Depression grasped at her, every fear that had ever haunted her in this world and her own closing in on her mind and sapping the very life from her body.</p><p>The Dementors had clearly detected them if their effect was already this powerful.</p><p>Frantically, she lifted her wand, but Draco must have felt the motion because he pushed it down. <em>"Not</em> — the Patronus—" His faint voice was weak. "He'll sense it — they'll know we're here—"</p><p>And then, from behind them, came the terrible sound of heavy, rattling breaths that belonged to neither her nor Draco.</p><p>Scrabbling against the overwhelming depression eating away at her mind, Hermione latched her determination to the one thought that made sense: <em>Get far enough away that she could cast the Patronus without detection.</em></p><p>She clutched Draco's hand. "<em>Run," </em>she breathed.</p><p>And then she sprinted forward as if death itself was chasing her, stretching out her arm to run her fingers along the stone wall as a guide. She didn't care if the Cloak covered them fully; the darkness of the unlit, ground floor corridor was so thick that she doubted even Moody's magical eye could see them.</p><p>Suddenly, the wall dropped off. Hermione tugged Draco to the left into an equally vast expanse of blackness.</p><p>She didn't know when she stopped running until her dragging feet stumbled and she nearly fell. Draco's limp hand suddenly yanked her backward, as if he himself had slid to the floor. Every jinx and hex and curse that had ever been flung at her stabbed at her skin, Bellatrix's maniacal laugh and House-Witches' screams from her Dark Arts classes reverberated through her ears, while a herd of mutilated centaurs lay strewn across the vast expanse of her mind and everyone she knew, <em>everyone</em> lay dead…</p><p>Her head began to swim, and she collapsed to her knees. Unfathomable despair filled her soul, and she knew the Dementors must have been nearly on top of them. Her head felt like lead, but she managed to look behind her…</p><p>Then she saw them. Four floating spectres towering above them, darker than even the blackness of the hallway itself.</p><p>She gripped her wand and attempted to lift it… but somewhere in the distance, echoing off the corridor, she heard the scraping of the vampire statue, opening up again.</p><p>They would undoubtedly see her Patronus if she cast it now. She couldn't use it.</p><p>They would die if she didn't.</p><p>They would die if she did.</p><p>Another presence fell heavily against her, masking her view of the Dementors.</p><p><em>Draco,</em> her mind registered dimly through the dark fog rapidly closing in on her consciousness. Draco was… Draco was <em>shielding</em>…</p><p>Shielding.</p><p>With a lurch, her slowing heart began to beat again.</p><p>Masking. Shielding.</p><p>The rattling breath was right above them...</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>With every ounce of will in her soul, Hermione lifted her wand, her hand moving agonizingly slowly through air that felt as thick as mud.</p><p>She was <em>not</em> going to die here today.</p><p>When her wand connected with Draco's body, she summoned whatever magic was left within her and cast the one Invisibility charm that had the power to not only mask them from sight and human-presence-revealing spells, but also mask their emotions, their life-force… including from Dementors. But it was so difficult that even the Patronus Charm was considered the easiest protection in comparison.</p><p>In the darkness, she couldn't even tell if it had worked. Her arm lethargically dropped to the floor, and she weakly shifted it until she felt it collide with her side. The Dementors' greedy pull was relentless, and with more energy than she felt she had, she fiercely thought, <em>Occaeco!</em></p><p>She let out an exhausted breath of air.</p><p>Nothing changed.</p><p>The suffocating darkness still penetrated deep inside her. The sound of Bellatrix laughing still echoed through her mind…</p><p><em>"Expecto Patronum!" </em>shouted a voice that was not her own.</p><p>Blinding white light exploded before her eyes. Quickly, Hermione squeezed them shut, gasping in relief as the overwhelming depression siphoning the life from the very air she breathed vanished in an instant.</p><p>Her head slumped back to the ground. The ice numbing her skin began to melt away, and she slowly became aware she was lying flat on her back. Her eyes cracked open again to see the tail end of some massive, glowing creature charge around the corner into the vampire statue hallway, from which radiantly warm light, rather than blackness, was now emanating.</p><p>Rapid footsteps and a dark, cloaked figure followed the Patronus, but whoever it was passed right by them and turned down the next hallway without a second glance in their direction.</p><p>"Severus," Lily Evans' distinctive voice suddenly said in surprise, so nearby that Hermione's exhausted senses didn't even have to strain to hear her.</p><p>The footsteps stopped abruptly, and then the last voice Hermione had <em>ever</em> expected to hear said, "Your… Your Grace." He sounded stunned. "My Lord — Viceroy Evans — Headmistress —"</p><p>"Severus Snape. You're quite a long way from your classroom and your quarters," said the unmistakable, omniscient voice of Albus Dumbledore. "What brings you to this area of the castle at so late an hour?"</p><p>Merlin, that voice was simultaneously one whose sagacious counsel Hermione had desperately hoped the impossible hope of hearing once more in her world… and one that she had desperately hoped she would never have the dangerous misfortune of ever encountering here in this one. She held her breath, praying that Snape, <em>whatever</em> he was doing there, kept them all from coming around the bend.</p><p>"Your Grace, we've asked the faculty to assume extra patrol duties inside the castle since the incident." It was McGonagall who spoke now. "Professor Sprout was to keep vigil tonight, but she's unfortunately taken ill. Severus was kind enough to volunteer in her place."</p><p>"Is that so," Dumbledore said, his conversational tone much more forceful than Hermione remembered it being. He sounded agreeable enough, but she could just detect a distinct thread of deliberate calculation and the implicit threat of absolute authority lurking beneath the surface. "How very noble of you. I see Minerva has chosen her faculty well."</p><p>Slowly, she felt her strength returning in the form of warmth that began to trickle from her chest through her limbs and down into her arms and feet. Draco still felt like a deadweight on top of her chest, and she lethargically reached up to reassure herself that he was alright. Her fingers landed on the back of his head, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light where they lay, she realized with a start that her hand appeared to rest on thin air — the Invisibility Charm had <em>worked</em>.</p><p>Blindly, she stretched out her other hand, feeling for his own arm. When she found his fingers, she squeezed them hard.</p><p>He didn't respond.</p><p>Panic overtook her, completely blotting out the nearby conversation. What if she'd been too late? She couldn't imagine why they would perform the Dementors' Kiss so arbitrarily, especially not at a school, for goodness sake, but what if — what if they already had, on him?</p><p>Hermione slid her other hand down the length of Draco's invisible head, brushing back some of his silky hair, then dug her fingers into his shoulder and shook it sluggishly.</p><p>
  <em>Come on, Draco, come</em>
  <strong>
    <em> on…</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Slowly, his hand tightened very weakly around hers.</p><p>She let out a heavy breath of relief as her panic receded, and she heard Lily say, "… <em>you</em> who the Dementors sensed." She sounded strangely disappointed.</p><p>"Given three of them came swooping straight at me, yes, I'd say so," Snape responded somewhat impudently, given his current company.</p><p>"And when you saw them, you assumed… what, exactly, that would have compelled you to repel them so violently?" Dumbledore asked perspicaciously. "Surely you've been informed Dementors have been placed around the castle to guard it. They are our allies, not our enemies, yet you reacted as if they were the latter. Name your cause, Severus. Why would you have done so?"</p><p>"My first and only thought was to protect children, your Grace," Snape replied so angelically Hermione wondered if someone was impersonating him — badly — on Polyjuice potion. "I hadn't realized Dementors had been invited inside the castle as well. Had I known it was your Grace who summoned them, I certainly wouldn't have taken such drastic action."</p><p>"And that, my dear man, is a grievous error. You should not make such concessions of judgement, not even to me." The light radiating from the corner brightened considerably. "Indeed in this case, your instincts were true. These particular Dementors are currently serving another purpose, one which you were right to guard against. You must excuse their aggression; they've been provided… somewhat different instructions as to their response toward unexpected presences."</p><p>"It should have occurred to me to alert you of their presence in the castle tonight, Severus. The fault really is mine, your Grace," McGonagall admitted.</p><p>"No, no, there's no need to concern yourself, Minerva, no harm has come of the incident," Dumbledore said, sounding mollified, while Hermione followed their exchange of blame-sharing pleasantries in bewilderment. None of them sounded angry, nor even the slightest bit concerned that Lucius Malfoy <em>was bloody well missing</em>. "In fact, it's quite fortuitous that Severus and I should cross paths. I understand from Lily that a potion of particular significance to me is nearing its completion. I would very much like to see it."</p><p>"Of course; it would be my privilege," Snape said smoothly.</p><p>"Shall I alert him of the delay?" Lily asked.</p><p>"Yes, please do. No doubt he has plenty with which to occupy himself in the meantime. Now, shall we?"</p><p><em>Kingsley,</em> Hermione realized. Kingsley wasn't conducting his own investigation of the Hangar explosion… <em>Dumbledore was. </em></p><p>Their voices slowly faded, as if they had begun walking quite leisurely back down the far corridor. Swiftly, Hermione summoned an Extendable Ear from her knapsack, disillusioned it, and levitated it toward the end of the corridor, listening as the conversation continued.</p><p>"I admit your Patronus has left me rather intrigued, Severus. A… what was it, again?"</p><p>"A stag, your Grace." For some reason, Snape sounded particularly disgusted about this, before he continued in a more neutral tone, "After my godchild's. I'm quite fond of him, as the First Viceroy may have mentioned."</p><p>"The boy can produce a Patronus, can he? An impressive feat for a young man, especially since—correct me if I'm wrong, Minerva, though I don't expect I am — the Patronus Charm is not a standard element of the Hogwarts curriculum."</p><p>An unnaturally hard edge had entered his pleasant voice.</p><p>"The curriculum was changed at the start of the Second Intervention." McGonagall sounded nervous. "All children of age or very near it were instructed in untraditional protection charms, should the insurgents have turned the Dementors against us. I assure you, the Office of Magical Education approved every addition."</p><p>"Did it, now. That's quite interesting. Lily, make a note to deal with Randall Scamander. I do believe he's quite exceeded his term of office."</p><p>"Gladly," Lily said, sounding pleased.</p><p>McGonagall seemed dismayed. "Oh, Your Grace—"</p><p>"Minerva, I assure you your information was not the cause, but the confirmation, of such a decision. I've had another candidate in mind for months… Hogwarts will appreciate this change." Dumbledore quickly returned to the earlier topic of conversation. "The family <em>Cervidae</em> - quite popular these days, it seems. Young Harry's father was an unregistered stag Animagus as well, was he not, Lily? It's quite curious that your son should hold a disgraced figure in such esteem. You've sought help for him, I assume."</p><p>Hermione's ears perked up, and she strained to hear the waning conversation through the Extendable Ear.</p><p>"I'd like to think I've managed to stamp out any baseless fantasies he may have had about the days before James Potter became… unhinged," Lily sounded like she was eating tar. "It's certainly the fault of an over-active imagination; there's no chance he could possibly remember what it was like."</p><p>"Can you blame a growing boy for seeking a father figure?" Snape asked.</p><p>"Perhaps you've forgotten the definition of god<em>father, </em>Severus."</p><p>"One should never underestimate the longevity of childhood memories, they stem from a powerful awareness far greater than that of most adults," Dumbledore said nostalgically, sounding so similar to the great wizard Hermione had once known it nearly broke her heart. "I myself fully recall leaping on my bed when I was only two years old, refusing to let my mother put me to sleep at the usual time because light from the fading midsummer day was still streaming through the windows. To this day, my great-grandniece swears she can remem…"</p><p>The faint conversation disappeared entirely.</p><p>Hermione waited exactly forty seconds before she reached a hand up to her ear; her faintly shaking finger twice missed the small felt pad before connecting with it. <em>Harry, are you there? Answer me, damn it!</em></p><p>She didn't expect it to work. It didn't.</p><p>She desperately itched to conjure several muffling and warding charms around them, but resisted. Even the most powerful magic had its limitations, and the Eighth-Level Invisibility Charm had one weakness: If Hermione cast any additional spells while Invisible, doing so would nullify the charm's effects, and they would immediately become visible again. If Dementers were still anywhere near the vicinity, she would much rather rely on the Eighth-Level charm's protection than her Invisibility Cloak, for now.</p><p>Slowly, she sat up. Draco had shifted the bulk of his weight off her minutes earlier, but she still felt an invisible force pushing down over the width of her stomach and against the outside of her right hip. "Draco…" she ventured cautiously, reaching down —</p><p>He yelped as her finger collided with something soft. "That was my eye…"</p><p>Hermione swiftly withdrew her hand. "Oh, I'm so sorry—"</p><p>"Well, at least I know your abuses are from concern. Or, at least… I hope they are." Draco's voice sounded quite weaker than hers did, as if their encounter with the Dementors had affected him significantly more. "Why — Why are…?" She felt the remaining weight against her vanish. From the audible exertion to his tone, Hermione guessed he was pushing himself to a sitting position. "Why can't I…?"</p><p>"We both are," she said, guessing his thoughts. "The Eighth Level Invisibility Charm. It makes—"</p><p>"Anyone who uses it invisible to Dementors," he finished, sounding slightly astonished. After a beat, he said, "Hermione, I have never heard of anyone completing that spell, especially not under duress, and especially not<em> twice.</em> You — You marvellous human being, you just saved both our lives. Again."</p><p>And then, incredibly… he let out a short breath of air that sounded almost like a <em>laugh.</em></p><p>Hermione was astonished. "How on earth can you find this a laughing matter?" she exclaimed. "This is a disaster! We almost just had a kiss with death, the bloody <em>Sovereign</em> is roaming the castle as we speak, I can't reach Harry, and we don't even know what happened to your father—"</p><p>"But that's just it. We do." She heard Draco shifting position. "I don't know how. I don't know why. But if Albus Dumbledore walked into that cell and walked back out without any reaction whatsoever, then Evans must have done the spell, and it must have <em>worked!"</em></p><p>Hermione shook her head. "But that's impossible. Harry was still moving in a very visible location right before Dumbledore arrived. He couldn't have completed it."</p><p>"Unless he cast it as soon as he left the hallway," Draco said, though now he sounded more wishful than convinced.</p><p>"He wouldn't have. This is Harry we're talking about; he would never do something so risky in a public place."</p><p>"But clearly they didn't think…" Draco trailed off and sighed. "You're right. Something doesn't add up," he said. His excited tone had vanished. "Bugger. I was so hoping this had simply been the one plan that had... had actually gone <em>according</em> to plan."</p><p>Hermione couldn't agree more. She echoed his sigh heavily. Kingsley, she trusted she could fool; even Lily Evans, perhaps, but... <em>Dumbledore?</em></p><p>"Draco," she said quietly, plucking worriedly at the fabric of the Invisibility Cloak, "Dumbledore's here to examine the Hangar himself."</p><p>For a long time, she felt as though she was sitting alone in the deserted corridor. "If anyone can hide something from that man, Hermione, it's you," he said finally, his voice gentle. "Believe that you did the best you could, and let it be. You can't do a thing about it, and thinking about <em>that</em> will drive you mad." He paused. "Let's just focus on what's right here in front of us. Yeah?"</p><p>Hermione soaked up his reassurance gratefully. She didn't know how it was possible, but somehow, he always seemed to know exactly what to say and do to make her feel better.</p><p>She smiled tiredly and nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her, and started to process the conversation they'd overhead. The Lucius Malfoy switch wasn't the only mystery she'd detected. In addition, Dumbledore believed Snape was <em>still brewing</em> the potion, not that it was completed. Which meant that either Harry had lied to her, or that Professor Snape had, incredibly, lied to the Sovereign's face to cover all their arses. Or both. <em>Why?</em></p><p>"Hermione, please say something so I know you've heard what I just told you."</p><p>"Sorry. I heard you. I'm thinking. Not about Dumbledore," she added with another weak smile. At the very least, she could safely assume Harry hadn't begun the spell before Dumbledore had entered Lucius Malfoy's spell. At the same time, the spell <em>must</em> have been completed by then, for no suspicion had been raised. Realistically, the only <em>possible</em> way that could have ever occurred was if Harry had—</p><p>Her lips parted as the realization struck her. "He used a Time Turner," she breathed, then spun in the direction she supposed Draco was sitting. "They didn't know your father was missing because he wasn't. The Shadow was already there in his place."</p><p>For a moment, only silence met her declaration. "Didn't you say the Transmitter wasn't working?" he asked, sounding doubtful. "Evans wouldn't've had any idea of the urgency of the situation here, he was relying on us to tell him that. Does he even <em>have</em> a Time Turner?"</p><p>Hermione frowned, gnawing pensively on the edge of her lip. "I… don't know. They're so difficult to obtain. I had one in third year, and McGonagall had to jump through tens of legal loopholes to get me it. Then again, he is 'the son of the Viceroy,'" she said in a satirically lofty voice. "Can we think of anyone else here who might have one?"</p><p>Her mind wandered to McGonagall's office. Sure she would be be most logical person at Hogwarts to be given Time Turner clearance. Unlike the Headmaster's Office during Dumbledore's tenure, though, McGonagall's seemed free of miscellaneous trinkets and clutter. She certainly wouldn't leave anything so valuable and unstable as a Time Turner lying about, which, given their time constraints, would be a problem.</p><p>Draco paused. "There is Kendra D."</p><p>"Kendra <em>Dee?"</em> Hermione's brow creased thoughtfully. "I have never heard that name. Is she a student here?"</p><p>"Oh, I mean-" She could hear the faintest tinge of a smile in Draco's voice. "You wouldn't have; she doesn't exist in your world. Kendra Selveretnam Dumbledore, the Sovereign's great-grandniece. She'd be a.. seventh year now. Ravenclaw."</p><p>Hermione could feel the beginnings of a knowledge-void headache coming on, and she put a hand to her aching forehead. She thought she'd heard the word 'grandniece" escape Dumbledore earlier, but he'd been far enough away that she wondered if she'd misheard. She could certainly see Dumbledore as a doting uncle, even this version of him, but she couldn't imagine prickly Aberforth as a <em>father</em>.</p><p>More than that, given the fame and power of the Dumbledore name, how had she-as-My not crossed paths with this Kendra Selveretnam Dumbledore yet, especially if she was only a year behind Hermione?</p><p>"Does he have a large family in this world?" she asked in amazement. <em>Merlin, </em>she desperately needed to do some biographical reading, stat…</p><p>"Not large. Some on his sister's side; his brother never had children." He paused, then said confidently, "Kendra's got one. As long as she's here now, we could probably take it from her and return it all in the course of a few hours, while she's still asleep."</p><p>Hermione blinked back her astonishment that Ariana Dumbledore had not been killed in this universe and held up her hands. "Wait, what? Hold on. What do you mean, 'as long as she's here <em>now</em>?' And how do you even know she has one? The confidentiality agreements surrounding their use are ridiculous."</p><p>Draco hesitated for several seconds. Hermione abruptly regretted she'd asked: Pregnant pauses after searching questions usually meant he'd come across the information sometime during his captivity. "Draco, you don't —"</p><p>"No," he said, though his voice was taut. "No, it's - fine. Finnegan… wanted to date her earlier this year, and she turned him down. I… overheard him complaining about it," he said carefully. He took a small breath; when he spoke again, he sounded more assured. "While I'm not <em>entirely</em> sure she swings in his direction, not that that would ever stop him from trying to go for it with a Dumbledore, apparently she was recruited as a Chaser for Puddlemere United this fall, but she's still studying here, too. She told him she was too busy taking every elective available before she graduated to get involved with anyone. Quite clearly, she's using a Time Turner. I don't know how she splits her time between Hogwarts and Puddlemere, though."</p><p>Well, that would explain why Hermione had never seen Kendra before, then: advanced classes, and insane Quidditch hours. Though it certainly made sense that if anyone could get their hands on a Time Turner and manage the complex sequencing of events and potentially disastrous consequences if used incorrectly without losing their mind, it would be Dumbledore's great-grandniece, Hermione shook her head, frowning.</p><p>"It isn't all that clear, necessarily. I was given my Time Turner for somewhat similar reasons as Kendra might have been, but it's hardly ever done. No one once guessed that's what I was using to attend different classes at the same time, they just assumed I was some sort of mad genius. Time Turner use… Is it more commonplace here?"</p><p>"No, not that I know of. Finnegan had no idea."</p><p>"Then why would you have jumped to that conclusion?" Hermione asked perplexedly.</p><p>Draco paused. When he spoke again, there was an unexpectedly defensive edge to his tone Hermione had never heard before. "Well, how else would she pull it off?"</p><p>Hermione blinked in confusion, then shook her head. Whatever it was, it wasn't worth mulling over now. "Alright. Well, that's our best lead, then. Since we're having this conversation, we can postulate that Kendra must be here tonight and that <em>we</em> brought Harry the Time Turner, not the other way around. Which means… we," she scrambled for the Invisibility Cloak lying in a heap beside her, threw it over her shoulders and pulled from its folds the Marauder's Map, "need to find out where he is."</p><p>She lit her wand and Draco materialized immediately; as expected, the use of additional magic had nullified the Eighth-Level Charm and their invisibility. He looked paler than usual but otherwise alright, thank Merlin, and he scooted closer to her after she cast Disillusionment and Muffliato Charms around them and spread the map out on the floor. They both pored over it for several minutes before Draco said, "For the love of…" His voice sounded slightly strangled. "Hermione. Look on the second floor. Near where we last saw Evans."</p><p>Hermione quickly shifted her gaze… and stared at the label <em>Cassiopeia Longbottom.</em></p><p>She blinked and scrubbed at her eyes, then stared at the map again. The name hadn't disappeared. "You cannot be serious," she hissed. "He asked a <em>child</em> to be part of this? There are Dementors out tonight!"</p><p>"In his very thin defence, I imagine he didn't know there'd be Dementors here if not even Snape did," Draco pointed out.</p><p>"Don't <em>defend</em> him; I'm quite certain he doesn't have anyone's best interests at heart but his own!" Disbelieving rage began to bubble inside her. "What is she doing there? Oh, I'm going to <em>kill</em> him!" Seething, she began to fold up the map. "We have to—"</p><p>He reached for the parchment, firmly holding it to the ground with a pointing finger. "Hermione, stop. Think about where she <em>is."</em></p><p>Hermione gritted her teeth, forcing her thoughts away from murdering Harry Evans before he single-handledly destroyed her sanity and refocusing on the map. Peia's dot was situated in the middle of the second floor girls'…</p><p>Hermione sat straight up.</p><p>In the middle of the second floor girls' lavatory.</p><p>The second floor girls' lavatory that was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.</p><p>"Bloody Morgana," she whispered. Then she gaped at him in shock. "You <em>know?"</em></p><p>"Riddle was a close family friend; he may have mentioned it once," Draco said offhandedly with a casual shrug of his shoulder, as if knowledge of the secret entrance to the legendary chamber of Salazar Slytherin wasn't a big deal. "What I don't understand is why Evans would take my father or Peia there. None of them would be able to open it."</p><p>Hermione stared down at the name on the label, her thoughts shifting rapidly. "Unless one of them can." But the idea of that sweet, insightful little girl being the product of Bellatrix and <em>Lord Voldemort,</em> even though he wasn't Lord Voldemort here, was almost too unbelievable to voice. "Draco… Who's Peia's father?"</p><p>For a moment, he didn't respond. "Hermione, you can't possibly believe…"</p><p>"Why not? Bellatrix <em>worshipped</em> him in my world," she said sardonically. "Maybe the same was true here."</p><p>"But it wasn't." She could tell he was genuinely upset. "Aunt Bella loved Rudolphus. You could… you could see it, just by the way she talked about him. They had planned to elope right before he was… before he was killed, in the final days of the First Intervention. Mum told me Bella was devastated. She and Riddle, they— their relationship — it's completely different. They're close, but not like that. When they're together, they're like - like two parts of the same machine, like… generals so united against a common enemy they hardly see or hear anyone else. That isn't love, that's…"</p><p>He trailed off.</p><p>"Perhaps it is," Hermione said quietly. "Perhaps it's just a different sort than you and I understand it to be."</p><p>He was quiet.</p><p>"Draco, I know this is your family I'm analysing so objectively and challenging things you've believed to be true your entire life, and I am <em>sorry</em> for that," she said sympathetically. "But just because Bellatri - Just because Bella loved Rudolphus doesn't mean something couldn't have happened with… with someone else. These things — They occur. It could explain why Peia's a Legilimency and Occlumency prodigy. So was Volde— Riddle," she corrected hastily.</p><p>Draco let out a slow breath. "Your points are... valid all, I just - I need a minute to get used to the idea."</p><p>Hermione nodded in understanding. After a moment, she gathered up the map and stood. "Don't resign yourself to it yet. We don't know for certain it's true." She glanced down the dimly lit hallway, where the torchlights had flickered back to life following Dumbledore's departure. "But I rather expect we're about to find out."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>#GoodSnape? #BadSnape? Where do you think his loyalties lie? What did you think of Dumbledore's appearance?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. There and Back Again, Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Quick reminder that in this narrative, Universe A's final battle of the war was a bit different - it didn't take place at Hogwarts, and it happened about six months after it did in the book narrative. So when Hermione references an activity that she, Harry, and Ron did together that didn't quite happen that way in the books, know that in this story, they did.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Hermione had first (and last) descended to the Chamber of Secrets, it had been with Ron and Harry some six months earlier to gather basilisk venom for the destruction of the final Horcruxes.</p><p>Even though Universe B's tunnel system lacked a gargantuan shed basilisk skin - an ominous reminder of what lay ahead - it was just as sinister and creepy in this world as she remembered it being in hers.</p><p>Her feet sloshed through shallow puddles of water and grime in the dripping, shadowy pipework, her lighted wand partially raised and at the ready. Only fifteen minutes earlier, she and Draco had slipped into Ravenclaw Tower and levitated Kendra Selveretnam Dumbledore's Time-Turner from around the young woman's neck, replacing it with a quill Hermione had transfigured to look just like it. Though Kendra had already been dead asleep when they arrived, clearly used-that-evening Quidditch practice gear abandoned in a haphazard heap on the floor beside her bed, a mild sleeping charm would buy them at least another six hours before there was any chance she would awaken.</p><p>That the short-haired seventeen-year-old was a direct scion of the Dumbledore line, and obviously inherited enough of her great-granduncle's brilliance to balance a full-time academic load with professional Quidditch, was of immense fascination to Hermione, but given that she didn't seem to be an immediate threat, nor indeed even at Hogwarts round-the-clock, taking the time to learn more about her waking-hours personality and character was very low on Hermione's list of priorities.</p><p>Draco was right - it <em>had</em> been easy.</p><p>As they rounded the final bend in the passageway and the Chamber's snake-entwined entrance towered before them, Hermione had a feeling that whatever lay at the end of this tunnel would not be the same.</p><p>"Wicked!" Peia exclaimed in delight. From the moment she'd greeted them cheerfully in the lavatories, she hadn't seemed to share Hermione's considerable concerns. With an enthusiasm rivalling a child heading to Zonko's rather than the Chamber of buggering Secrets, she had grabbed Hermione's and Draco's hands and had all but dragged them down the tunnels eagerly.</p><p>"Peia, did Harry give you a reason why he wanted to come… <em>here?"</em> she asked tightly.</p><p>"Of course not," she said. "You know Harry. He rarely gives an explanation for anything, does he?"</p><p>"Oh believe me, I'm well aware," Hermione muttered heatedly, swallowing back another fierce wave of anger that Harry had actually told a twelve-year-old to <em>wait</em> for her and Draco in the second floor girl's lavatory at one in the morning.</p><p>"But I imagine you have some idea, don't you, Pei?" Draco wheedled. "Do you think you could have read something from him, something that could… indicate what he has planned?"</p><p>The wild-haired girl gave him a somewhat pretentious expression that clearly questioned why he had even needed to ask. "Oh — of course I <em>know." </em>She released their hands to fearlessly step directly up to the stone door, and tilted her head back, examining it. "Look at these eyes! D'you think they're made of real rubies?"</p><p>"Peia, focus please," Hermione said more testily than she intended. "This is important. Why did Harry take your uncle to the Chamber of Secrets?"</p><p>Peia sighed impatiently and glanced back at her. "This is the only place we can go and never be found," she explained. "This is sanctuary."</p><p>Of the many words Hermione could list to describe the Chamber of Secrets, 'sanctuary' was not one of them… and given Ginny's near-death experience in the Chamber in Universe A, Hermione didn't particularly like the sound of 'never being found.' As far as she was concerned, Peia's responses were as unintentionally vague as a fact-sharing statement from Luna Lovegood.</p><p>Draco's expression said he shared her confusion. He took a few steps closer to Peia, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Peia, love," he said carefully, "Have you ever <em>seen</em> the Chamber of Secrets?"</p><p>"Oh, yeah. Loads of times," she said dismissively. "Just not directly."</p><p><em>Not directly, </em>Hermione thought. In other words, Peia must have "read" it from someone… someone whose name was probably an anagram of a phrase that included the words <em>Lord Voldemort. </em></p><p>Merlin, even if this was a different universe, this was a <em>terrible</em> idea. Hermione again eyed the closed door and lifted her wand, preparing for the worst. "Go on, Peia," she said, gripping it tightly. "You just have to ask it to open, and it will."</p><p>Peia smiled eagerly and nodded. Without hesitation, she turned back toward the great door before them… and easily addressed the stone snakes on it in a hiss.</p><p>Instantly, the bolts along the door's edge's shifted and turned, responding to Peia's Parseltongue command just as the sinks in the second floor girls' lavatory had.</p><p>Hermione sucked in a breath and swiftly exchanged a glance with Draco. He didn't seem so much nervous as resigned. He glanced down at Peia and then back up at her and nodded, his gaze filled with mixed emotions. Hermione understood: Though it wasn't impossible for any ordinary child to be a natural Parseltongue, given the context, there was very little doubt in her mind that Cassiopeia Black was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin.</p><p>She nodded and mouthed, <em>I know.</em></p><p>Their attention was drawn back to the Chamber when the massive door slowly opened. Hermione followed Draco's gaze, peering into the misty darkness beyond them. The interior of the Chamber must have been darker than in Universe A. From her current perspective, even the statue of Slytherin was impossible to see.</p><p>"I'm going to extinguish the light so our eyes can get used to the darkness," she said. "It'll be easier to see the entire Chamber that way."</p><p>Really, she was extinguishing the light so they weren't an obvious target. Harry had deliberately lied about using the Room of Requirements, and that made her wary. Why would he utilize the highly impractical Chamber of Secrets instead? What was he hiding "to protect them?" (An argument she didn't buy in the slightest.)</p><p>She caught a movement in the shadows to her left, and Hermione knew without a doubt that Peia was already going in. She swiftly jumped forward, her heart thudding. "Peia — wait," she whispered, firmly fumbling for the girl's hand before she could sprint off into the room. "We'll all do this together." She glanced over Peia's head to look pointedly at Draco. Her eyes were adjusting to a soft, very dim glow emanating from the doorway, faintly illuminating her companions. "Won't we?"</p><p>"Indeed we will." Draco offered his hand to Peia with a small smile. "Milady."</p><p>How he had the energy to be charming at a moment like this, Hermione didn't have the slightest. The minute Peia grinned back and accepted it, Hermione looked determinedly toward the Chamber. "Right then. Let's find out exactly what Harry Evans has been hiding from us."</p><p>She stepped through the doorway into the muted, silvery light, holding tight to Peia's hand.</p><p>She froze.</p><p>No thought - only shock - filled her mind.</p><p><em>"What…?"</em> she heard Draco breathe in stunned awe.</p><p>Her mouth dropped open. "Oh - Oh my god."</p><p>Since entering the wizarding world when she was twelve, Hermione had seen many startling magical "firsts," from the floating candles in the Great Hall to the everyday magic used almost constantly by wizarding families like the Weasleys. From the day she had first wandered, openmouthed, through Diagon Alley to the final battle of the Second Wizarding War, she had witnessed countless unbelievable feats of magic.</p><p>This wasn't that.</p><p>This was like watching an orange Harvest moon rise above the crashing ocean waves, like wandering through the streets of Hogsmeade during the holidays, with multicoloured holiday lights strung all around while carols played merrily and the world glowed with goodwill and cheer, like laying on a carpet of grass on a perfect summer day while sunlight streamed like beams from heaven through gently rustling leaves and branches, like dancing at Bill and Fleur's wedding before all hell broke loose, where, just for a moment, life was a celebration, everyone was happy, and all was right.</p><p>This was truly <em>magical.</em></p><p>No floating pathways had been laid upon floodwaters that rose to the base of Salazar Slytherin's head and down the length of the chamber. No — this Chamber of Secrets wasn't flooded at all.</p><p>Instead, a wide staircase spiralled tens of metres down from where they stood and to the floor, revealing the Chamber's truly enormous size.</p><p>They were looking out upon a cavernous space.</p><p>Above them, the stone ceiling wasn't dank and dark. The entire Milky Way and a waning gibbous moon shone overhead, surely enchanted like the Great Hall's. The moist air was at once warm and cool, and a very faint mist on one side of the Chamber shrouded her view of the full body of Salazar Slytherin at the opposite end of it. In the flickering of starlight, moonlight, and lamplight illuminating the cavity in a silvery glow, she could just make out a lush, almost primordial world.</p><p>Rather than serpent columns, six towering, cylindrical pyramid-shaped structures lined the Chamber's edges. The massive edifices rose from the bottom of the Chamber clear past Hermione's eye level high above it, covered from tip to base with densely flowering plants, shrubs, and other greenery. Over the top and from the midst of the structures, waterfalls tumbled, sparkling under the pale light of the moon. At varying heights, lanterns hung like some strange form of holiday tree decorations, illuminating a smattering of otherwise dark gaps in the vegetation.</p><p>The gaps were either entranceways or windows, Hermione deduced, realizing at once that <em>this</em> was why Harry had brought Lucius Malfoy here: These strange edifices must have been some sort of self-sustaining dwellings.</p><p>The Chamber of Secrets wasn't just a room… it was a living, breathing<em> ecosystem.</em></p><p>Tiny lights that could only be fireflies were blinking cheerfully around many of the jungle-like structures and clusters of trees interspersed between them. Extremely abundant plant life carpeted the ground. Over the sound of rushing water, she swore she could actually hear crickets. She had to remind herself that they were at least 50 meters below Hogwarts and not in some forest village out of a science fiction novel.</p><p>Reverence began to kindle like a warm fire in the middle of her chest. Someone had <em>created</em> this place, built through what must have been years, even decades, of careful, deliberate spell work and painstaking planning. If a descendant of Slytherin could produce something this— this beautiful, this peaceful and full of <em>life </em>rather than coldness and death, then… Merlin.</p><p>For the first time, Hermione truly believed that this really might be a universe in which Peia's biological parents weren't monsters after all.</p><p>A small, contented smile tugged at her lips.</p><p><em>Sanctuary, </em>the child had called it.</p><p>Perhaps it truly was.</p><p>She tore her gaze from the Chamber to see if her equally silent companions shared her awe. Peia's eyes were huge, her lips parted slightly. Draco too was staring into the Chamber, a smile similar to the one Hermione wore on his own face. As if he'd felt her gaze, his head turned toward her slightly, and then he looked over at her fully, his pale features bathed in moonlight.</p><p>In the warmth and the softness of the fine lines around the corner of his eyes, Hermione had no doubts that he appreciated the enchanting beauty of this moment, this incredible place, as much as she did. Her small smile widened hesitantly. So did his.</p><p>By now, Ron surely would have made a jocular comment about the jungle setting; Viktor, bless his heart, would have grunted and inquired as to what it was exactly they were looking at. But Draco simply continued to look gently at her with kind eyes and no words whatever.</p><p>Suddenly, she caught herself, and jerked her gaze away, her heart hammering. What was she doing? She didn't know why he was willing to hold her extended stare, but she absolutely could not send him any signal that could be construed as anything other than friendly, not when he was legally <em>bound</em> to her. What if he thought she was taking advantage of him, of the bond? That would surely make for an uncomfortable situation that wouldn't be fair to either—</p><p>"This," Peia said dramatically, interrupting her thoughts, "is <em>awesome."</em></p><p>Then she pulled away from both Hermione and Draco's hands and took off down the stairs.</p><p>"What — Peia!" Hermione yelped in panic. She cursed and darted after her, gripping the stone bannister tightly as she skidded down the slightly slippery stairs. Just because this place was beautiful didn't mean there wasn't a basilisk slithering around it; the jungle-like habitat was probably its idea of paradise. "Peia, wait! We said <em>together!"</em></p><p>"Harry!" she heard Peia exclaim loudly. "Harry, we're here!"</p><p>Hermione groaned and briefly buried her forehead in her palm. Wonderful, now Peia's shouting had probably <em>awakened</em> the bloody thing. <em>"Peia!"</em></p><p>As she reached the foot of the stairs, floating candles suddenly flared to life, lighting a bridge that led over a creek-like stream from the first foliage tower to the main gravel pathway. Harry strode out from inside the structure. "Granger!" he barked. "Good god, about time you showed up." His gaze shifted upward, and he stopped walking. "Malfoy. What in the blasted name of Merlin d'you think you're doing here?"</p><p>"That is an excellent question, Evans; I rather think I should be asking you the same thing," Draco retorted from somewhere above her. "It seems a bit too convenient to me that you simply happened to know you needed to ask <em>Peia</em> about the Chamber of Secrets. Who told <em>you</em> about it?"</p><p>With a final burst of energy, Hermione caught up to Peia at the foot of the bridge and snatched up her hand. "Peia, just - just <em>wait—"</em></p><p>Before she knew it, Harry was in her face. "Have you lost your mind?" he hissed, ignoring Draco's highly pertinent question. "What were you thinking bringing him with you— he's a sodding liability! And what the devil did you do to your transmitter?"</p><p>Hermione straightened, glaring at him. "What did - what did<em> I</em> do?" she repeated, astonished. "Your 'high tech device' died on its own! Perhaps you should think twice about using a prototype for a high risk operation rather than a system that's proven it can work!"</p><p>"There wasn't anything wrong with ours," Peia piped in then, following their squabbling with wide eyes. "I've been talking to Harry this entire time. It was you we couldn't reach, Hermione."</p><p>"Yes, ours worked only <em>far</em> too well," Harry snapped, momentarily shooting a disgruntled scowl in the child's direction before he held out his hand toward her and looked at Hermione triumphantly. "There, you see? The midget agrees with me. The glitch was clearly on your end."</p><p>In the glowing firelight of the candles, Hermione actually saw red. How <em>dare</em> he? How dare he waltz around orchestrating separate and highly dangerous plans, withholding critical information from the people who would be directly affected by them, and then accuse <em>her</em> of dropping the ball?</p><p>Clenching her hands into fists, she shot a quick glance behind her: Draco had reached the base of the stairs but wasn't approaching. She wondered if he was deciding whether he wanted to enter the spat or not.</p><p>Calmly, she turned to the girl standing beside her. "Peia, why don't you go join Draco for a bit?"</p><p>Peia looked worriedly between Harry and Hermione. "But why are you—"</p><p>"Just do it, please," Hermione said through gritted teeth.</p><p>Peia frowned unhappily. <em>"Fine." </em>She sighed, lowering her head, and trudged back toward Draco despondently.</p><p>"Peia… really?" Draco said suddenly. "Is that… <em>reluctance</em> I see on your face? After all this time, after everything we've been through together, could it - could it be you don't <em>truly</em> love me after all?"</p><p>He sounded so legitimately heartbroken that Hermione peered back at him in concern, but Peia began to giggle wildly. "Draco, stop teasing me!"</p><p>The next time he spoke, he sounded devious. "Then you'd better chin up before I keep at it, hadn't you?"</p><p>Hermione couldn't help but smile slightly.</p><p>"Granger, there's something you need to know," Harry suddenly said beside her.</p><p>She stiffened, immediately remembering why she had sent Peia away in the first place. In a heartbeat, the smile had dropped from her face. Wandlessly, she cast a Muffliato between the two cousins and Harry, and spun toward the dark-haired wizard.</p><p>"Oh. There's something I need to know?" she asked waspishly, advancing on him. "After I've been relegated to a 'need to know' basis that conveniently didn't include your transporting Lucius Malfoy to the bloody Chamber of Secrets, or that Cassiopeia Longbottom was not only part of tonight's escapades but Tom Riddle's daughter — both of which I think I bloody well needed to know — <em>now</em> you're going to tell me something that I <em>need</em> to know?"</p><p>He actually leaned away from her, though<em> of course</em> he would never admit to being afraid of anything enough to back away. "Granger—"</p><p>"No!" she exclaimed. "No, you slippery, slimy — <em>infuriating</em> bastard, now there's something <em>you</em> need to know!" She jabbed her finger in Peia's direction. "How dare you bring that child into this! Leaving her alone in the middle of the castle where anyone could find her — anyone, like Dementors, or the Investigation team, or the bloody Dark Arts-loving ruler of this entire empire! And then, what, you told her to come here, to this - this <em>snake</em> <em>sanctum? </em>Did it every occur to you in all your oh-so-<em>brilliant</em> plans that Slytherin had a Basilisk, which is a XXXXX-rated creature, by the way, and stashed it right—<em>"</em></p><p>"The Basilisk is dormant. Has been for the past eight hundred years," said an unexpected, deep male voice behind them. "So I'd say this - <em>snake</em> sanctum, as you so expressively called it - is relatively serpent free. Of the non-human sort, anyway."</p><p>Hermione spun, instinctively raising her wand.</p><p>A man was standing in the middle of the unlit bridge leading to the vegetation-covered tower beside theirs, his features swathed in shadow.</p><p>"And Mr. Evans here brought Cassiopeia into it because I instructed him to," he continued over the sound of rushing water, his inexplicably rich voice sending a strange shiver down her back. "So if you have an overwhelming desire to continue shouting at someone, well… you should probably be shouting at me."</p><p>Hermione shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward Harry. He didn't seem concerned — in fact, he appeared to be the very opposite. <em>"That</em> would be what you needed to know," he said calmly.</p><p>She quickly looked back toward the unfamiliar man and jerked in surprise. Very suddenly, he was very nearly in front of her, now fully illuminated by candlelight. He was tall, middle-aged at best, with a lightly tanned face, dark eyes, and a thick head of perfectly coiffed, wavy coffee brown hair parted to one side that spilled casually over his forehead to curl above his brow.</p><p>He was devastatingly handsome.</p><p>He cocked his head, studying her closely, his gaze sharp. "Miss… Granger, I presume. I've heard your name quite a bit today," he said, his smooth voice as resonantly magnetic up close as it was from a distance. He glanced between her and Harry and raised a single eyebrow. <em>"Impressive</em> tirade, I might add. I have a feeling Bella's going to take quite a liking to you."</p><p>Bella - brown hair - dark eyes - dangerously charming - Chamber of Secrets —</p><p>Those very basic facts were a dead give-away to his identity, but no— it was impossible. First, how on <em>earth</em> would he be able to breach Hogwarts' walls after he'd been bloody wiped from every history book in the entire school, and second, this man who only had the slightest flecks of grey hair around his temples could not possibly be even remotely old enough to be—</p><p>He looked down at her raised wand. "Are you going to lower that?" he asked, though he sounded quite unconcerned about whether she did or didn't. "Because if not, I'm going to have to take it from you."</p><p>Hermione gaped at him, gripping her wand tightly to keep her hand from shaking. "You — You're—"</p><p>
  <em>"Tom!"</em>
</p><p>Peia suddenly burst through the Muffliato charm Hermione had cast earlier. Hermione quickly looked behind her to see Draco staring in unabashed astonishment at the new presence as well — obviously, the two had just noticed him. Then he shook his head in disbelief and smiled broadly, following Peia toward them.</p><p>Peia charged past her. Hermione swivelled her head back toward the entrance of the tower to see Tom- Tom <em>Riddle</em> crouch down and sweep her up in his arms. "Cassiopeia! There's my favourite girl."</p><p>"I missed you!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him so tightly it was a wonder he could breathe.</p><p>Hermione lowered her wand numbly as the man who she had only known as a dark lord hugged Peia closely back, standing and lifting her off the ground. He simultaneously groaned and chuckled. "Merlin, you were half this big the last time I saw you. Don't tell me Herbology has you working with the Amplexius patch behind the greenhouse," he commented, and Hermione recognized the reference to an obscure herb that acted as a growth steroid. "How've you grown up this quickly?"</p><p>Peia loosened her grip reluctantly, turning her face to look at his. "It's been hard," she informed him solemnly.</p><p>The smile faded from his expression. "I know it has, kit," he said in a low voice, gently touching his forehead to hers. "It's been hard for us, too."</p><p>The moment was so clearly one between a father and his daughter — whether or not Peia knew it, though Hermione suspected she did — that Hermione looked away and forced herself to breathe in and out of her nose, still trying to process what she was seeing: That this was Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he was showing actual affection and love and <em>humanity</em> toward something, and <em>Hermione was standing within striking distance of the very man who in her world had murdered hundreds of people without a second thought —</em></p><p>A hand touched her shoulder.</p><p>She jumped and automatically swung her wand around — into Draco's startled face. "Hey. It's me," he said hastily.</p><p>She blinked in surprise, then lowered her wand. "Godric, I'm sorry."</p><p>He gave her a small smile. "As I said… at least your abuse is unintentional." But his amusement vanished as quickly as it had come. He stepped closer, searching her eyes, his own concerned. "Are you alright?" he asked, quietly enough that the conversing Riddle and Peia wouldn't overhear.</p><p>"No. Yes. Well… I will be eventually." Hermione sighed and raised a hand to her throbbing temples. "I thank the stars above he at least looks <em>nothing</em> like Voldemort."</p><p>"And he doesn't act a thing like him, either," Draco murmured. "Look at the love he has for her, Hermione. That isn't the monster you've always known."</p><p>They both looked back toward the dark-haired wizard and wild-haired little witch, the latter of whom was chattering on happily, while Riddle listened with an affectionate and most certainly amused smile. Oddly, rather than wearing traditional wizarding garb, let alone Voldemort's flowing black robes, he was clad simply in dark-washed slacks and a light gray button-down Muggle Oxford shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows.</p><p>Hermione nodded to herself and took a small breath, letting it out slowly. Draco was right. This man was very, very different from Lord Voldemort, and that at least would make the bizarre adjustment much easier.</p><p>"How on earth does he hardly look a day over forty?" she hissed in Draco's ear. "He was born in 1926; that would make him seventy-two right now!"</p><p>Draco leaned closer to her still, so close that his lips were practically touching her ear. "He and Nicolas Flamel collaborated quite closely when he was fresh out of Hogwarts," he whispered back. "He always said that working so near the elements used to create the Elixir of Life had rubbed off on him, but rumors spread that he actually took some Elixir himself."</p><p>Hermione mentally kicked herself for not making the time to unravel the riddle that was, well, Riddle. Then again, she hadn't counted on bloody well running into him so soon. "Flamel was alive for hundreds of years and never shared the Elixir with anyone but his wife. Not even Dumbledore, and they were great friends… at least, he didn't in my universe," she whispered thoughtfully. "In all those centuries, what would make Riddle different from any others who surely wanted to share the Elixir?"</p><p>Draco shook his head. "From what my mother told me, Flamel had never supported the Sovereignty's move to modernize. He claimed the Philosopher's Stone had been destroyed when Dumbledore came around asking for it," he said in a low voice. "Then he was mysteriously killed… more of a disappearance, really; the entire thing was covered up. Mum thought he'd lied to Dumbledore about the Stone being gone and had given some Elixir to Riddle to support the cause before then. If Dumbledore found out, that may have even been why he died."</p><p>Hermione listened in rapt attention. The differences between this world and hers were truly fascinating. While Voldemort had been after the Philosopher's Stone in her world and Dumbledore had helped hide it from him, here it was Dumbledore who'd wanted it, and <em>Voldemort's</em> alter-ego who Flamel trusted. "If that's the case, then why would…"</p><p>She trailed off as Tom Riddle bent forward slightly, allowing Peia to slip back to the floor. She beamed up at him, practically bouncing with excitement, and Riddle smiled at her again, ruffling her hair and then resting his hand on her back. Harry, Hermione noticed, had disappeared, and she wondered for the first time where exactly Lucius Malfoy was.</p><p>Before she could voice the question aloud, Riddle turned toward them. His face broke out into another shockingly good-looking smile.</p><p>"Draco," he said warmly, extending his hand. "Now, <em>you</em> have grown up. My god, it's good to see you again."</p><p>The same wide smile had stretched across Draco's face. He grasped Riddle's hand firmly. "Believe me, sir, that sentiment cannot be more strongly returned."</p><p>Riddle laughed and stepped forward, pulling Draco into a hug. Hermione winced when Draco immediately recoiled slightly before he returned the embrace. The motion was minor, and she thought she'd been the only one to notice it until Riddle himself pulled back quickly, holding the blond wizard out at arm's length and searching his person for injury. "What is it, Draco?" He seemed genuinely concerned. "Is something wrong?"</p><p>Draco shook his head, looking frustrated, and Hermione knew then that his reaction hadn't been intentional. "No. It's nothing." He smiled again, although this time it seemed strained. "I'm sorry, sir, I — I really am very glad to see you."</p><p>"It isn't nothing if it caused you to react like that," Riddle pursued, not easily dissuaded.</p><p>Draco took a small breath, avoiding the dark-haired man's searching gaze. "It isn't you, it's… I'm not… particularly comfortable with sudden contact."</p><p>Riddle frowned, studying Draco closely. Then he lifted his hand. With a twitch of his fingers, he wandlessly moved aside some loose platinum hair that spilled over the left side of Draco's face, where it had hid most of the scar Ronáld had burned into him. Swiftly, the older man's expression transitioned from concern to shock to a cold fury so strong it practically emanated from his features. With a jerk, Hermione was reminded that while this man may have loved his daughter and was not the same as Lord Voldemort… he was quite obviously still as powerful, and he certainly was not to be trifled with.</p><p>Draco stood rigidly and stared down at Riddle's shoulder, his jaw tight. As the seconds stretched on, the wait for one of them to speak or move became physically <em>painful. </em>She couldn't imagine what it must have felt like for him to stand under the appalled gaze of a man he so clearly respected. Before she could stop herself, she exclaimed, "We've brought a Time-Turner!"</p><p>Riddle blinked. In an instant, his expression of rage vanished, and his penetrating gaze slipped toward her, his eyes still dark. She shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps we should… talk about what's happened tonight, and what still needs to be done. Sir."</p><p>For the briefest moment, he glanced back at Draco, then took a step back. "Peia," he said, looking down at the girl who still stood beside him, her own dark eyes worried, "I need to discuss something privately with your cousin."</p><p>"You'd like me to go inside and stay with Harry," Peia said knowingly.</p><p>"Yes, I would, and I thank you for being the wonderfully intelligent and understanding girl that you are." He lifted her hand and squeezed it, before she turned away. "In any case, I'm certain Mr. Evans will be utterly thrilled for the company," he added, a slightly sardonic edge to his voice.</p><p>Even though he'd acknowledged Hermione's interruption, Riddle had fairly ignored her otherwise. Hermione wasn't certain if she should feel slighted or relieved about that, but his message for privacy had been quite clear. "Right," she said, nodding once to herself. She supposed this would give her the opportunity to learn what Harry was doing with Draco's father, as she assumed the two were together. "Wait a minute, Peia, I'm—"</p><p>"Hermione, wait." Draco suddenly reached out and grabbed her arm before she got more than a step away. She looked back at him quickly. "Stay," he implored quietly, his glistening eyes betraying the calmness of his voice.</p><p>It took her no more than three seconds to decide that Lucius Malfoy and Harry Evans could wait. She nodded. "Of course."</p><p>"My apologies, Ms. Granger, it hasn't been my intention to ignore you completely," Riddle said, turning toward her. "Here I've been speaking to you as though we're acquainted, when I haven't so much as returned you the favor. My name is Tom Riddle." Rather than offering her his hand, he afforded her a piercing stare. "I've been told people and personalities are significantly different in the place you call home. But I assure you, right here, I'm on your side… if it's my side you're on."</p><p>Hermione suddenly wondered exactly what — and how much — Harry had given away about her. She could have groaned — knowing him, she couldn't be certain any of it would be favorable, either.</p><p>"She is," said Draco before she could respond, moving to stand alongside her.</p><p>Hermione glanced at him quickly, but he was staring hard at Riddle. She looked back into Riddle's probing gaze. "If by 'on your side' you mean we'd both like to restore basic rights to those who've lost them, then yes, I rather think I am."</p><p>Riddle looked between Draco and Hermione. "Excellent."</p><p>Then he held out his hand.</p><p>Hermione swallowed hard before she took it, hesitant to look him straight in the face… she was finding it exceedingly difficult not to stare at him in incredulity every time she did. "It's a… pleasure, Mr. Riddle."</p><p>He let out a short laugh. "Please. Call me Tom. There's only one person who calls me Mr. Riddle, and as luck and skill would have it, he doesn't seem to have an inkling that any of us are here right now."</p><p>Draco straightened abruptly. "About that—"</p><p>Riddle held up a hand, cutting him off. "One moment, Draco. Before we speak another word, I must know one final thing." He returned his intense gaze to Hermione. "How trustworthy do you know yourself to be?"</p><p>Hermione felt herself automatically become defensive. "Given my record of utmost loyalty to the people and causes I care about, I'd say very," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.</p><p>Riddle shook his head, his eyes still deeply connected with hers. "No. Not the superficial you you would describe yourself as being. The subconscious you. The you that still exists when the you you think you are is sleeping. The you that a Master Legilimens can see when he or she looks inside the deepest recesses of your mind for the pure tendrils of consciousness that indicate at the most basic level just how likely one might be tempted and swayed by the Dark Arts…"</p><p>He was so skillfully subtle that it took Hermione a few seconds to realize that he was actually performing Legilimency on her at that very moment. Her heart lurched, and she swiftly raised her mental defences. She noticed then that Riddle was standing only inches from her, so close that she could actually smell his <em>cologne</em> — when had that happened?!</p><p>Riddle cocked his head at her, his gaze analyzing. Hermione held her breath, kicking herself for not having anticipated that <em>Lord Voldemort's</em> alter ego would perform Legilimency on her. Then he smiled slightly. "Not bad."</p><p>She shook her head, flushing slightly. "It was awful. I wasn't ready. I should have been. I'm much better at it than that."</p><p>"Ms. Granger, if I tell you your Occlumency wasn't bad, you can be assured it wasn't," he said with all the confidence of a Hogwarts professor. "Who taught you?"</p><p>"No one." Hermione finally brought herself to look back at him. "I've heard bits of theory here and there, but I've only thrown myself into picking it up on my own when I got here in August."</p><p>"Hermione's a brilliant witch. Not a single person's seen through her yet," Draco added, actually sounding proud. "Not Snape, not Kingsley, not even Lily Evans, and she had plenty of opportunity. She performed an Eighth Level Invisibility Charm twice tonight with four Dementors practically on top of us. Saved both our lives."</p><p>Riddle's gaze shot toward her. "You <em>what</em>?"</p><p>Hermione flushed again and shot Draco an expression mixed between gratefulness and embarrassment. "I honestly didn't even feel it working. What really saved us was Snape's Patronus," she said, wrinkling her nose in a frown. "The timing of which was… oddly impeccable."</p><p>He examined her calculatingly, his gaze intrigued. "Self taught Occlumens, Eighth Level Invisibility Charm in the presence of Dementors, familiarity with Time Turners. Those topics aren't even breached in N.E.W.T. level courses. What were your Ordinary Wizarding Level grades?"</p><p>She shifted awkwardly, now definitely embarrassed. "Nine O's and one E."</p><p>"And N.E.W.T.s?"</p><p>She shook her head. "I didn't take any N.E.W.T. classes. I was… erm… out of school getting practical experience."</p><p>For a moment, he was quiet. "That's interesting," he said, his dark eyes unreadable. Then he shook his head. "Well then. We'll work further on your Occlumency. You've grasped the basics; now you must refine them. The best Occlumency is not a defence, but an offense. You must anticipate a Master Legilimens before he or she even locks eyes with you, before they even know it's you with whom they'll be speaking next. The moment they do — the second they make eye contact — you're fair game. You won't have time to raise your walls without them realizing it, and when they do, they'll know immediately you have something to hide."</p><p>Hermione nodded, engrossed in his explanation. She honestly wouldn't have minded if he'd continued the training then and there, but Riddle tilted his head toward Draco. "Speaking of which, I believe you have something for me. Palm-sized, diamond embedded, the chain of which is hanging from your righthand pocket…"</p><p>After a beat, Draco withdrew the jewel-studded Time-Turner that belonged to Dumbledore's niece.</p><p>Suddenly, everything made sense to Hermione — why Harry had forced her to get the Haitian spellbook so early; why he'd taken it and promptly disappeared for another two hours. Harry wasn't prepared to do an incredibly advanced Dark Arts curse… but <em>Tom Riddle</em> was. Not only that, since he had just described the Time-Turner before Draco had even pulled it from his pocket, clearly he <em>knew</em> what it looked like, which meant he'd already seen it, which meant that he must have still been in the Chamber to<em> see</em> his future self come back in time, which meant that <em>he'd actually already seen himself perform the Shadow Double Curse.</em></p><p>And since he was loitering here talking to them, he obviously wasn't terribly worried about casting it.</p><p>Hermione couldn't stop herself from smiling slightly. It was brilliant.</p><p>Riddle took the Time-Turner from Draco, holding it up. He raised an eyebrow. "Look at <em>this. </em>The old man didn't lend me one of these when I was Minister of Mysteries, and we managed his entire cache of them. Who's the favored one this time?"</p><p>"Kendra D," said Draco simply - clearly, the offspring of the Sovereign's familial line needed no further introduction.</p><p>Slytherin's heir let out a dark chuckle. "Why does that not surprise me?" He shook his head, and reached out toward Draco's scarred face. "So many riches… built on such suffering." His eyes hardened, and he turned away from them. "Come with me. Your father's just inside."</p><p>Draco didn't move. His eyes were struck, and he looked so alone that Hermione felt an overwhelming desire to reach for his hand, simply as a reassurance… simply as a friend. She'd certainly done it when they were recovering from the Dementor attack an hour earlier. Her fingers twitched, but she couldn't bring herself to move them. What if he interpreted it the wrong way? What if he didn't —</p><p>Draco shoved his tense hands into his pockets then and looked over at her. Her hand tingled, and she felt a distinct sense of disappointment at the now-missed opportunity.</p><p>She nodded toward the bridge. "Coming?" she asked, ignoring the pounding of her own heart.</p><p>He bowed his head, tracing a line in the gravel with his shoe. "You know, it's funny," he said quietly, smiling weakly. "I've dreamt about this moment my entire life, but now that it's here, a… a part of me would really rather not walk through that door."</p><p>Hermione gazed at him. Though he seemed to have the utmost confidence in <em>her,</em> in so many others, she was coming to learn more and more that he was legitimately worried about how the people who truly mattered to him would perceive <em>him</em>. But in focusing on his weaknesses, he forgot so many of his strengths, of the characteristics that made him so worthy of respect. She had no doubt his imprisonment was at fault for that, and she knew he simply needed time to work through it, to become used to making his own decisions again.</p><p>But that didn't help him when he was on the threshold of meeting the father he hadn't seen since he was five.</p><p>"You know what I think?" she asked quietly. "I think you should do it for your mum."</p><p>Draco looked up at her quickly.</p><p>"I don't know very much of her," Hermione continued, "but from what you've told me, I don't think she could bear knowing the two people she loved more than anything else in the world were so close to meeting, and didn't."</p><p>He looked away from her, blinking rapidly. After a moment, he nodded and said thickly, "You're right." He cleared his throat, then smiled slightly, his glistening eyes distant. "But she would be the happiest woman in all of Britain if she knew we had."</p><p>In that moment, Hermione wished<em> so badly </em>that she'd had the chance to meet the Narcissa Malfoy that was this wonderful man's mother. Her own eyes stung with tears as Draco's gaze returned to her face, a resoluteness in his expression that hadn't been there moments before. Before she knew what was happening, his hand was holding her cheek, his bottomless grey eyes boring into hers. <em>"Thank</em> <em>you</em>," he whispered.</p><p>Then he turned away and was gone.</p><p>Hermione's face tingled, her heart hammering. She swallowed hard and shook her head. All he was doing was being a good friend, and meanwhile she was feeling — feeling <em>this. </em>Yes, alright, she wasn't so emotionally daft as to deny she'd become a bit… <em>fond</em> of him. And that alone was almost as terrifying as nearly colliding with Albus Dumbledore. In this world, she absolutely could not risk a factor so uncontrollable as - as <em>fondness.</em> Not here, not now, and probably not ever.</p><p>She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, crushing whatever feelings were kindling inside her. Something inside her deeply protested, and her burning eyes blinked rapidly before she took another small breath, following him across the bridge.</p><p>Tom Riddle was conversing with Draco just outside the lantern-lit entrance, the top of his tall silhouette a few fingers above Draco's, even. "—him before he's conscious. Ease yourself into it."</p><p>Draco shoved a hand through his hair, nodding. "Fine, fine - That's fine. How is he holding up, though? Is he… alright?"</p><p>"For a near-fourteen year imprisonment, I'd say he's doing remarkably well. Spending most of his time at Hogwarts rather than with the Dementors of Azkaban no doubt helped tremendously in that respect."</p><p>They both looked at Hermione as she approached. "Everything alright?" Riddle asked. Hermione thought she detected the slightest bit of suspicion in the inquiry.</p><p>"Fine," she lied, stopping beside them. "Just taking in everything. This place… it's incredible."</p><p>"It is, which is why I'm particularly glad that neither Dumbledore nor Evans seemed to notice the activity in this area of the castle tonight." He paused, looking at her closely. "That <em>was</em> the case, wasn't it? Or do you not trust your grasp of their characters in this universe to make that judgment?"</p><p>"No, I do," Hermione responded tersely, getting the odd sense that he was restraining the urge to interrogate her. "Dumbledore's actually surprisingly similar here, compared to… well, compared to others," she said awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. "I'm developing a theory about the differences between our worlds, you see. While Headmaster Dumbledore was a great wizard, he was very tempted by power when he was quite young. When his sister died, he swore it off, but in this world, she lived. I suppose he wouldn't need much of a personality shift for him to choose to take the path of power here instead." She paused; Riddle was watching her with the same expression she imagined she wore when Draco explained elements of Universe B to her. "But to answer your question plainly, no, he certainly didn't seem to suspect anything out of the ordinary."</p><p>"The Viceroy was also her… toxic self," Draco added, an uncharacteristically tight edge to his voice. "Nothing off there."</p><p>For a few moments, Riddle was silent, his expression deeply pondering.</p><p>"You think Dumbledore came to the castle because he sensed you arrive," Hermione guessed.</p><p>He glanced at her. "The thought did cross my mind."</p><p>Draco frowned. "Does he have a Trace on you specifically? Is that possible?"</p><p>"For Dumbledore, it is. We received a tip he had. It's the primary reason I've avoided Britain until today; he'd know the second we stepped, flew, Apparated, Flooed or in any other sense of the word travelled back to the country. Now, this place — " He raised his hands, gesturing around the Chamber, "—is different. It's special. I suspected we could return here — only here — without detection. Of course, there was no way to test that theory without just doing it, and with that came the small but cataclysmic chance that I could be wrong."</p><p>Draco shook his head. "I take it Evans filled you in on the explosion last night?"</p><p>For a moment, Riddle's dark eyes shifted to Hermione before they returned to Draco, and she knew Harry must have relayed his suspicions about the explosion's true culprit onward. "He did."</p><p>"I think Hermione and I both received the impression the Sovereign was quite interested in examining that site alone. If the Trace had worked, wouldn't it make more sense that he would've come straight here, rather than wasting his time elsewhere?"</p><p>"Yes… You're right." Riddle nodded slowly, though his gaze was still distant. After a beat, he lifted his head. "That'll have to do. For the moment." He looked like he was about to put his hand on Draco's shoulder, but stopped himself before he could finish the motion. "It's time."</p><p>He ushered them over the threshold and inside the tower, and Hermione found herself moving from a jungle-like world into a largely hollow, very habitable space. The ground floor of the pyramid, though wall-less, seemed to possess all the trappings of an ordinary flat: a rustic kitchen, a living room-like space, an eating area. In the very centre, a spiral staircase soared five stories into the air to the roof of the building like a great tree trunk, branching off at each level to lead to different floors, which wrapped around the edge of the structure like bands. Each floor seemed to support a number of closed-off rooms, lit similarly with the occasional lantern.</p><p>An architectural feat, it was as impressive as the precariously balanced floors of the Burrow. "Who built these?" Hermione asked in amazement. "What for?"</p><p>"I did." Riddle strode toward the stairs, appearing neither conceited nor modest at the statement. "Took me the better part of a dozen years. I was originally curious if such constructions could even sustain themselves, and when it appeared they could, their purpose developed into that of a refuge for wanted conservatives, if it ever came to that."</p><p>"Sanctuary," she murmured in understanding as they followed him up the stairs.</p><p>Riddle nodded. "As I began to call it."</p><p>"Did you ever use it?" Draco asked keenly.</p><p>He looked toward him and chuckled slightly, but the sound held a dark edge to it. "I am now." He gestured to his right, toward a branch of stairs that floated across thin air to the first level. Light glowed from inside a room ahead.</p><p>Draco frowned. "But why not during the Second — during the last war? This place would have been perfect for so many displaced families…"</p><p>Riddle shook his head. "That was a different situation altogether. That wasn't a few conservatives who needed to temporarily hide their heads, that was an entire people who needed to leave a very adverse situation for an indeterminable length of time." He turned, meeting Draco's deeply inquisitive gaze. "Information had come to light, Draco, information not even you knew." He glanced up toward the partially open door. "But I imagine that'll change very soon."</p><p>Just then, Peia popped her head around the doorframe, her features glowing in the firelight of multiple lanterns. "You're here! Harry was getting mad irate waiting."</p><p>Hermione heard an unintelligible but clearly displeased grumble from inside the room.</p><p>"You bet we are." Riddle smiled and again ruffled her hair as he walked past her, entering what was quite clearly a bedroom. Hermione followed him inside. A small table and a few floating lanterns met her gaze, as well as a curved sofa and a large bed, each atop wicker wooden frames.</p><p>Harry's dark form leaned against the curved wall near one of the windows. Lucius Malfoy slumbered peacefully on the sofa, in the same dull grey clothing Hermione had seen him wearing when she'd ventured past the vampire statue a few weeks earlier. He was as painfully thin as his son and pale as a ghost, a grizzled beard on his face, tangled silver hair cascading down his back. He looked about as similar to the Lucius Malfoy of Universe A as Draco did his other world counterpart: hardly at all.</p><p>She realized then that Draco was not beside her, and she glanced over her shoulder. He was hovering stiffly in the doorway, his eyes locked on his father. Not even his chest moved - he looked stunned.</p><p>Riddle strode directly over to the sofa and crouched down beside Lucius. "Repeat your exit time, Mr. Evans."</p><p>"Between 0:05 and 0:06," Harry said.</p><p>"Ms. Granger, Draco, what time would you say Dumbledore entered the cell?"</p><p>Hermione narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "No more than five minutes after that."</p><p>Riddle tossed the chain of the Time-Turner around both his and Lucius Malfoy's necks and pulled out a silver pocket watch. He checked it, then looked up at them. He winked at his daughter. "Be good, Pei. We'll be seeing you all momentarily."</p><p>"Wait!" Hermione exclaimed — she couldn't let him leave without at least confirming her theory. "So you — know the spell worked already," she said quickly. "Because you were already there when you came back. You saw it happen."</p><p>His lips quirked upward. "Look at you. You <em>are</em> a bright witch." But something in his gaze remained distinctly unfriendly. He didn't trust her, Hermione thought… and honestly, if it had been <em>Harry</em> who'd provided him a synopsis of her background, she could understand why. "You're correct," he continued, "except for one thing." He lifted the bejeweled Time-Turner in his hands. "I didn't just see myself cast the spell. I helped me do it."</p><p>He flipped the Time-Turner over, and he and Draco's father vanished.</p><p>For a moment, not one of those who remained in the room moved. Then Harry let out a heavy sigh, walked over to the same sofa, and collapsed on it. "Thank Merlin and all the blasted gods that's handled."</p><p>"Draco!"</p><p>Hermione jumped, startled. The sudden shout was undeniably Riddle's, and it had come from… outside the bedroom window?</p><p>Peia leapt up from the bed and dashed past her, looking out into the - seeming - night. "Tom?" she exclaimed in surprise.</p><p>"Hello, kit. Didn't I tell you I'd see you momentarily?" His voice swiftly transitioned from affectionate to commanding. "Ms. Granger, the window."</p><p>Hermione quickly came up beside Peia, as did Draco. On the same level in a lit room in the tower beside theirs, Tom Riddle was looking out at them. He and Lucius Malfoy must have been in the other building all along, she realized, waiting for his other self to go back in time. Now that he had, the time loop had closed.</p><p>As soon as they appeared, he said, "I suggest the two of you make your way here immediately. Cassiopeia, stay with Mr. Evans. You both can move over here if you'd like."</p><p>For a moment, Harry buried his head in his hands, gripping his hair, before he stood and wordlessly held out a hand to Peia. As if she realized he didn't want to talk, she took it silently.</p><p>Draco was already standing at the door with his back to them, his shoulders tense.</p><p>For a moment, Hermione wondered why he didn't simply leave, and then in a rush she remembered he couldn't — not with the limitations of the House-Wizard bond. She swallowed back the frustration she knew he must have felt a hundredfold and hurried across the room. He all but tore out of it once she was beside him, and she took the gnarled, tree-like steps two at a time to keep up. "Draco, he didn't say something was wrong," she said breathlessly.</p><p>"Of course he didn't — not with Peia standing there. Why else would he ambiguously ask only you and I to join him?"</p><p>"Because reuniting with a long-lost loved one is an intensely personal thing! The whole world shouldn't be standing around for it. Anyway, don't you think Past Riddle would have said something if the spell hadn't gone correctly to stop Future Riddle from moving ahead with it?"</p><p>Draco shook his head and only walked faster, his gait uneven. "Not if he didn't want to interfere with the continuum…"</p><p>The second tower's interior was very similar to the first. This time, they followed the left branch of stairs to the first floor. Riddle was waiting for them outside the door, his gaze unreadable in the flickering torchlight, his chin resting on a hand while he supported his elbow with his other. As Draco barged past him, he moved in front of the limping blond so quickly Hermione honestly wondered if he'd somehow seamlessly Apparated there. "No, Draco. Not yet."</p><p>She could tell from his tired expression alone that all had not gone according to plan.</p><p>Her heart sank. Whatever it was, it wasn't what any of them needed.</p><p>"What's the matter? What's happened?" Draco demanded.</p><p>Riddle reached out slowly, gently placing his hands on either side of Draco's shoulders. "Calm, Draco. Calm," he assuaged in tone so mesmeric Hermione could see how Lord Voldemort had commanded an almost hypnotic hold over many of his followers. "Nothing is wrong. Not yet. But something must be done that only you can," he said in a low voice. "I know this won't be easy for you… but I need you to go into that room and speak with your father."</p><p>The request shocked Draco as much as it did Hermione. For a moment, he simply stared at Riddle. "Wait — What?" he asked in confusion.</p><p>Riddle pressed his lips together, clearly weighing his response. "The potion isn't… working as intended."</p><p>"You've administered it already?" Hermione asked in surprise.</p><p>Riddle looked past Draco toward her and nodded. "After my other self left to meet the group of you. We may have waited too long to use it."</p><p>Draco's expression must have been truly horrified, because Riddle took one look at it and added, "That being said, an expired potion can produce one of three effects: one, it won't work at all; two, it'll eventually produce the intended effects, but much more slowly than the mature potion would have; or three, it'll produce vastly different effects from those intended, in unpredictable manifestations. Until I see otherwise, I'm banking on the second." His expression was at once encouraging and grave. "You're his son," he told Draco quietly. "Experiencing your presence may be just what it takes to trigger his memories."</p><p>Draco swallowed hard, and nodded. "Yes — Alright."</p><p>Riddle looked deep into his eyes, and gave him a small smile. "Good lad."</p><p>"What's he like now?" Hermione asked tensely.</p><p>Riddle tilted his head toward her, though he didn't stray from Draco's side. "Still believing he's imprisoned without any idea in the world of who he is or what we want of him."</p><p>Draco closed his eyes briefly. "Let's get on with it," he muttered wearily.</p><p>Riddle nodded and turned, waving his hand toward the partially closed door. The air shimmered, and Hermione wondered if he'd raised a Muffling Charm to mute their conversation. He pushed the door open.</p><p>Lucius Malfoy was pacing inside. When he saw them, he abruptly stopped walking, his gaze travelling swiftly between Riddle to land on Draco. For a moment, he simply stared at him. Then he backed away quickly.</p><p>"Oh no," he said, shaking his head wildly. He wrapped his arms around himself. "N-n-no. Not this, not again… Every <em>time!"</em> he burst out, causing Draco to visibly flinch. Lucius shoved a finger at Riddle, his eyes burning. "I don't know who - who <em>you</em> are. New, perhaps. But you cannot do this again! I've already told you, I don't know who he is!"</p><p>Draco and Riddle swiftly exchanged surprised glances, before Draco nodded once and turned back toward his father, stepping slowly inside the room. "You… recall seeing me before?" he asked hesitantly as Hermione cautiously climbed the last few steps to the top of the stairwell.</p><p>Lucius looked between them. "W-What is this?" he stammered. "Some sort of game? Of course I have. But you - you weren't… quite so big." His vociferous voice had become as smooth and quiet as she remembered Lucius Malfoy's being, but this man's was different, somehow — this man sounded more soft-spoken than leopard-like, waiting to strike. He stiffly lifted his hand until it was slightly beneath shoulder level. "A-About… there, I'd say."</p><p>Draco again shot a bewildered glance over at Riddle before he looked back at his father. Hermione felt the same confusion he did: at that height, Draco would have been <em>much</em> older than five years of age. "In what… capacity… did you see me last?" he asked uncertainly.</p><p>Lucius looked nervously at Riddle, then gestured toward the bottom of Draco's shirt. "Perhaps you - Perhaps you could be ever so kind as to - to raise that a bit?"</p><p>Draco looked down in confusion. "My shirt?"</p><p>"Is that… what it's called?" For a moment, Lucius seemed vaguely enlightened, before he nodded. "Yes, your… shirt. Just - Just a bit."</p><p>As Draco complied, Hermione glanced at Riddle to see if he found the request as bizarre as she did. The dark-haired man — who, for all intents and purposes, actually appeared to be <em>younger</em> than Lucius <em>— </em>was watching their interaction closely. Though his concentrating expression gave away nothing of his thoughts, and his arm hung loosely at his side, his wand was poised between two stiff fingers.</p><p>Just then, Lucius sucked in a small breath and stepped back. His eyes, wide as a cornered lion, were locked on Draco's waist in horror.</p><p>"What? What is that?" Hermione asked hurriedly before she could help it.</p><p>Draco looked at once baffled and unnerved. "To be honest, I — I don't quite know what it is." After a moment, he lowered his shirt. "It's a… line across my stomach. It's much… older then the rest," he said with another glance at Hermione that she suspected only she understood. "I'd say it's a nasty scar, but I certainly would've remembered the cause of something like that." He turned back at his father. "How do you know about it?"</p><p>Lucius was looking between Draco and Hermione now, before his gaze fixed back on his son, scanning his face. Then he cleared his throat and turned away, his focus dropping to the floor. "I suppose just a… just a lucky guess," he said quietly. "It isn't — isn't important."</p><p>"But it… it is." Draco shook his head, the speed of his words increasing with his confusion. "I didn't — The first time I ever noticed it was after I got to Hogwarts, so you couldn't have possibly seen it. But you <em>know</em> about it, which - which means you saw me sometime <em>after</em> you disappeared." His stare shot back to Lucius. <em>"When?"</em></p><p>"I don't know," Lucius murmured tautly, avoiding his gaze.</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"I said I don't <em>know!"</em></p><p>Draco flinched again and hunched over, cradling his forehead in a shaking hand. Riddle stepped forward then, his gaze somber, and reached for Draco's arm. "I think it's time we—"</p><p>Feral fear suddenly scrawled across Lucius's face. "I've told you, I don't remember! I don't know! Nothing can - can <em>make</em> me remember if I don't know what it is to begin with!" he exclaimed, his eyes wild. "For the love of god, just - just leave him out of it!"</p><p>Hermione gasped, and tears sprang to her eyes. Oh Merlin, it wasn't… They couldn't possibly have… Not to a<em> child…</em></p><p>Draco and Riddle looked at her swiftly. She shook her head, her hand over her mouth in horror at the very <em>idea</em> of it, then held out her other hand toward Riddle. "Ri - Tom," she said quietly, returning his intense gaze determinedly. "I think you should leave."</p><p>Riddle cocked his head at her calculatingly, and Hermione pointedly raised her eyebrows. She didn't know how often he used Legilimency uninvited in everyday conversation, but at that moment she didn't make an effort to hide her thoughts.</p><p>Whether he read her mind or had come to his own conclusions, understanding briefly crossed his expression, and he nodded once. With one last glance at Lucius, he turned and walked past her out of the room.</p><p>She let out a small sigh of relief and returned her focus to Draco, tears blurring her vision. His gaze lingered on her face, a shard of unwilling realization in his pale eyes, and she prayed that for once in her life, she was <em>wrong.</em></p><p>Draco turned back toward his father. She saw him take a deep breath, his expression simultaneously gentle and resolute. Slowly, he took a cautious step toward him.</p><p>Hermione's heart broke when Lucius moved backward swiftly. Draco stopped walking, lifting his hand slightly in the universal signal that he meant no harm. Standing face to face, the two looked so incredibly similar that any witness would've had absolutely no doubt they were father and son… but Lucius himself seemed to have no concept of it, and Hermione wondered if he even had any idea of his own appearance.</p><p>"I know we don't know each other right now," Draco said quietly, "and I can only imagine what you have gone through. But I have been fed lies over and<em> over.</em> I've been hurt, and confused, and lost, and questioned my own sanity on many occasions, and I… I suspect you have as well." His voice had become hoarse, and he cleared his throat. "I can't ask you to trust me — I can't ask you to believe in someone you don't even know. But <em>please,</em> if you have any goodness within you, which I have no doubt you do, I - I need to hear the truth. And I need to hear it from you."</p><p>When distress crossed his father's features, Draco added quickly, "It doesn't matter what it is. The words aren't important. All that matters is that <em>you</em> believe it's true. Whatever it is… I promise I'll believe you, too."</p><p>Lucius stared at him for a long time, his thin, shaking hands clutching the back of the wicker sofa so tightly that Hermione didn't doubt he might splinter the wood. She held her breath, and released it in a rush when he finally moved, looking down at his hands.</p><p>"A… A long time ago," he began quietly, "Years, it must have been — They brought a… a boy. A boy who looked quite like… you." Lucius raised his eyes to Draco and traced them over his features. "Pale hair… pale eyes… pale face. But much… younger."</p><p>Hermione knew then that she was right. Her chin trembled, and she blinked rapidly, swiping away tears, as Lucius continued distantly, "They told me… he was my son. But I never had a son — how could I? I never had a wife, never had a job, never had a name… so that - that couldn't be possible. But they… insisted." His own pale eyes shifted back to Draco's stomach, his gaze haunted. "Then they… they told me, that if I didn't tell them what I had heard, they - they would— " His voice broke and he hunched over, covering his mouth. His eyes were anguished. "I'm sorry, I - I just need a moment…"</p><p>Draco stood stiffly, his expression frozen with such pain, one would think Lucius had physically struck him. "They tortured me. To get to you," he whispered. "And then they wiped my memory of it ever happening."</p><p>Lucius looked back up Draco regretfully, his eyes shining with emotion. He nodded. "Yes."</p><hr/><p>A place that had held such magic and hope only an hour earlier now seemed as quiet as a tomb. Hermione sat heavily on the stairs outside Lucius Malfoy's closed door, blankly overlooking the expanse of the tower's interior.</p><p>Peia sprawled across the width of the stairs, her head in Hermione's lap on a pillow Hermione had conjured for her. Harry had apparently fallen asleep in one of the bedrooms, but Peia had assured Hermione that she'd taken good care of him… which apparently consisted of removing his shoes and covering him with a quilt. Exactly why the little girl could be so fond of someone so callous, Hermione honestly didn't have the slightest idea, but she didn't want to dash their budding almost-friendship, even if it was one-sided.</p><p>From their perch, she could just see Draco sitting at the foot of the spiral staircase, his head bowed deeply, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. She wished there was something she could do to erase the immense pain and disappointment and utter <em>violation</em> she knew he must be feeling… but as she had learned the hard way with Harry Potter, there were some burdens she couldn't take from the ones she loved, no matter how much she may have desired otherwise. All she could do was provide support in any other way she knew to lessen the weight of their load.</p><p>What Draco had asked from her and Riddle very specifically fifteen minutes earlier was space. And though watching him suffer from a distance hurt something deep within her, she would honor his request.</p><p>"Don't worry, 'Mione. He'll be alright. Draco," Peia mumbled, her eyes closed.</p><p>"I don't know," Hermione sighed. "What he's experienced would be a bit much for anyone to take in, all in one night."</p><p>"But… he… has us," Peia said sleepily, yawning.</p><p>Hermione smiled faintly. "You're right, darling," she murmured. "He does."</p><p>She heard the door behind her open, and she looked over her shoulder to see Tom Riddle shut it just as quickly. He walked over to them, towering over her even more now that she was sitting. "You should take him and go," he told her in a low voice, nodding toward Draco. "This will not improve tonight." He withdrew the Time-Turner from his pocket and held it out to her. "Return this then."</p><p>Hermione nodded. "I'd planned on it."</p><p>To her immense surprise, he sat down on the stairs beside her, slowly lifting Peia's limp body until she was mostly on his lap. He let out a small groan. "Merlin, she's getting too big for this."</p><p>Peia only sighed deeply and tightened her grip around Hermione's left leg, continuing to snuggle across the both of them. His lip quirked slightly to the right. "Clearly she disagrees."</p><p>He waved his hand as he'd done earlier, and the air shimmered again very faintly — he'd raised some kind of Muffling charm. He looked over at her, a small smirk on his uncannily flawless face. "Your services as a headrest are greatly appreciated."</p><p>Hermione snorted, unable to believe that Lord not-Voldemort was <em>joking</em> with her. "One of my diverse talents."</p><p>Riddle's gaze shifted from amused to scrutinizing. "Indeed, it certainly seems to be."</p><p>He was analysing her again, she <em>knew</em> he was, and she looked away uneasily. They sat in silence for a minute before he said, "I hope you realize, Ms. Granger, that if you ever breathe a word of this to any other living beast or being, you will meet a fate worse than death itself."</p><p>His tone was so pleasant that Hermione had to repeat what he'd said in her mind to make sure she'd heard it correctly. When she did, her mouth opened and closed, and she spun toward him. His gaze was deadly, his eyes burning into hers. In a split second of panic, she questioned whether he truly was good in this world; then fear turned to outrage. After everything she had risked since stepping foot in Universe A, her <em>loyalty</em> was being questioned?</p><p>"Let me assure you of two things," she hissed. "First, I despise the Dark Arts with a strength I can't even begin to express. Second, I - would - never —<em> never — </em>betray the only people I care about here. I have been nothing but—"</p><p>"Alright. Alright. Don't get upset," Riddle cut off calmly, though it was clear he was weighing even that response. He tilted his head, surveying her. "They say you come from a different universe in the midst of war — a war in which you were at the forefront. You have looked down two Master Legilimens in the form of Lily Evans and Severus Snape, and you've detonated a building and successfully duped the most thorough investigative team in the Sovereignty into believing others were at fault. I think I need to know who I'm dealing with. Don't you agree?"</p><p>Her heart had begun beating rapidly. Rationally, she knew any shrewd leader would do the same as he, but she felt as though her very character was under attack. "I told you, my name is Hermione Granger," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm 19 years old. I'm a Muggle-born witch, and I've been a student at Hogwarts since I was 11. I am essentially the same person here that I was in my world."</p><p>"But you aren't. I understand the person you're posing as was quite the opposite of who you appear to be. And I know Draco trusts you implicitly, which he never would have her. Peia does too, and she's my truest indicator of one's core essence. But I've only known you for an hour. I have yet to fully form my impression." Hermione couldn't bring herself to look away as he leaned toward her, his gaze penetrating hers with all the hypnotism of a serpent.</p><p>"So tell me, Ms. Granger," he said in a low voice, "what is in your heart? What is it that drives you to risk your own safety and your very life to side with a lost cause when you could easily ride out your existence here as a powerful Elite? Don't even think of lying to me, because I will know, and you do not want to make an enemy of me."</p><p>She finally ripped herself from the mesmerizing intensity of his stare. "Because it's the right thing to <em>do," </em>she said fiercely. "D'you think I could just sit back and watch tens of witches and wizards tortured on a daily basis? To see their — their very freedom taken from them, forever, simply because they preferred to practice the <em>Light Arts?"</em> Her sight became uneven, and her eyes began to burn. "Do you think I could stand by while creatures are — are — <em>slaughtered </em>without a second thought, all in the name of a society's paranoia and greed? No. I can't." Tears were streaming down her face, now, but she didn't care. "Because my heart tells me it's<em> wrong."</em></p><p>Riddle sat up, his eyes locked on hers. "Slaughtered?" he repeated dangerously.</p><p>Hermione's heart lurched. She swallowed hard and looked away, her chest so tight she was afraid something might rupture. "The centaurs," she whispered eventually, scrubbing away the wet trails that clung to her cheeks. "The entire Hogwarts herd. The Sovereignty… killed them all. In the Hangar."</p><p>For several seconds, he didn't speak. "When was this?" he finally asked, his voice so flat it sounded nearly dead.</p><p>She looked toward him. Despite his tone, his expression was as terrifyingly dark as it had been when he'd seen the scar on Draco's face, and her heart skipped an anxious beat. "I don't know how long it's gone on," she said. "I discovered it last night."</p><p>Illumination flickered in his eyes. "So you destroyed the building. Why?"</p><p>Hermione clenched her hands and looked forward again. "I spoke with… Firenze… before he died. He asked me to ensure such savagery would never befall another centaur." She closed her eyes to reign in the wave of emotions raging through her body. "I gave him my sacred word I would."</p><p>She felt Riddle's gaze on the side of her face for a very long time afterward.</p><p>"I think, Ms. Granger," he said slowly, "that you and I may understand each other after all."</p><p>Hermione looked back at him quickly, but his focus was out upon the building's vast interior. He did not elaborate. "I believe I owe you my gratitude," he said instead. "Tonight would have proceeded quite differently had you not discovered <em>L'ombre deuxième."</em></p><p>With a start, Hermione realized two things: first, his distrust of her seemed to have inexplicably vanished, and second, the earlier plan for Lucius Malfoy — a plan Riddle must have helped develop — involved <em>killing</em> him. Her lips parted slightly. "But he — you— weren't you <em>friends?" </em>she asked, appalled.</p><p>Riddle's jaw tightened, his only visible reaction. "We exhausted every option we thought we had before we arrived at that decision." He shook his head. "I graduated from Hogwarts two years before Dumbledore took power. I wasn't forced to study the Dark Arts like all those who came after me. In all my years, I have never encountered a spell so ideal for what we needed to accomplish as the one you proposed."</p><p>She frowned. "So what <em>does</em> Draco's father know?" she asked. "What is it that Dumbledore, you — that people are willing to torture and kill to find out?"</p><p>Riddle studied her again, and Hermione welcomed him into her mind if that was what it took to convince him of her sincerity. But she was still surprised when he said in a low voice, "A prophecy." He looked down at a sleeping Peia, gently stroking her hair. "Lucius Malfoy was the only person to overhear the conclusion of a prophecy."</p><p>With a lurch, Firenze's impassioned words jolted through her mind: <em>"One by one, they found us all, tried to extract our most valuable prediction from us… But I always knew I would see it come to pass before my own light too was extinguished…"</em></p><p>Her palms began to sweat, and she was inordinately glad he was no longer looking at her. Was this prediction the same one Firenze had referenced... the one he erroneously thought had to do with <em>her?</em> Or was it something different entirely?</p><p>"Must be quite the prophecy if Dumbledore's spent over a decade trying to learn it," she said casually, dreading the answer he would give.</p><p>"Oh, it is." Riddle learned toward her, his voice thick with an ardor that clearly expressed the weight that he himself had placed on it. "It predicts that Dumbledore's reign can end, Ms. Granger… and it tells us <em>how."</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, a chapter with a lot of new information, new places and new characters all interacting with each other! What did you think of the Chamber of Secrets? Of Tom Riddle?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Interlude: Pensieves and Prophecies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I interrupt our usual programming for a look at Universe B's past from a... definitively *different* perspective.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Sovereign had stood here a hundred times.</p><p>To unskilled eyes, the brick room was small, crumbling and nearly pitch black, hidden as it was from the bustling streets of 1985 Edinburgh within the darkness of the abandoned Scotland Street Tunnel system.</p><p>But to his eyes — the most skilled of them all — the scene before him was something different entirely: torches flared upon the walls of an enlarged room, filled with the Scottish clan leaders who opposed his rule, all talking over themselves to be heard.</p><p>And at the center of it all, beside Lucius Malfoy's platinum head and Kingsley Shacklebolt's broad shoulders, was <em>him: </em>one of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's very few miscalculations, and subsequent regrets.</p><p>The meeting between these constituencies had been in the planning stages for months, Albus knew, moved from location to location and date to date to keep this very confluence from occurring.</p><p>Unfortunately for them, the Sovereign had chosen his sleeper agent well.</p><p>The approaching Phoenix Magical Law Enforcement operatives were flawlessly cloaked in Eighth Level Invisibility Charms, but Albus watched his former protege's shoulders stiffen as soon as the nonexistent dust from their Portkeys settled. Upon the eleventh viewing, he had also been pleased to notice the expression that the ageless man had swiftly exchanged ever-so-briefly with Lucius Malfoy. Indeed, it was one Albus had seen plenty over the course of his rule - oftentimes a delicate balance of respect and awe, while at other times pleasure and trepidation, or alarm and fear.</p><p>But it always said:</p><p>
  <em>He is here.</em>
</p><p>Then, Tom Riddle spun.<em> "Protego maxima incendi!" </em>From a slash of his wand tumbled silver light, erecting a shimmering shield — with a delightfully wicked twist — between the room's inhabitants and what would appear to them to be an empty, open doorway.</p><p>Albus could not help but let out a small sigh of disappointment.</p><p>Such magnificent potential. So tragically wasted.</p><p>He had watched the scene enough that he knew by heart what followed: Immediately, chaos broke out, with every chieftan diving for various unobtrusive objects on their persons — buttons, galleons, old, worn flasks. Meanwhile, Lucius Malfoy immediately but subtly cut to the back of the room.</p><p>As agreed, young Lily Evans dropped her Invisibility Charm first. "Each of your Portkeys has been rendered inactive; if you create any now, Riddle, you'll be leaving your colluders behind," she announced, voice hard and clear yet hardly audible over the room's volume. The noise augmented exponentially when each subversive discovered her words to be true. "The tunnels are surrounded by Anti-Disapparition charms! Resistance is futile—"</p><p>"You wish it were, lassie!" Regwin Maffett shot back. The words served as a catalyst; at once, every wizard in the room wrenched their wands toward her, but Tom Riddle leapt between them before a skirmish could erupt and held out his hands. "STOP! All of you, be still! Your spells will not penetrate the shield; do none of you recall your Hogwarts education?"</p><p>Tom turned calmly back toward Lily, while begrudged mumbling rumbled through the chastised crowd of men and women.</p><p>Suddenly, he snapped his wand to his left, stunning one of his own number - Kingsley Shacklebolt - unconscious.</p><p>Surprised shouts erupted sporadically from the room.</p><p>A small smile pulled at Lily's lips. She fearlessly prowled closer until she was inches from the shield, her wand dangled loosely between her fingers. "Very good, Headmaster. A hundred points to Slytherin," she breathed with the confidence of a much older witch. "Unfortunately, you're a bit late. We've had his allegiance since this little insurgence began."</p><p>Albus was pleased to note the betrayal he himself had felt years earlier flash through Tom's eyes, though only momentarily. Then, ever true to form, Tom accepted the unspoken challenge and likewise approached the shield, the ethereal, flowing silver fluidly blurring the air between them. Though the pressed pants and shirt beneath his understated robes were worn, his features were as striking as ever.</p><p>He appeared to have not aged a day since Albus had appointed him Minister of Mysteries over twenty years earlier.</p><p>"Lily Evans. Your rapid rise through the Phoenix has been a most interesting journey to follow. I would extend my sincerest condolences for the loss of your husband, but given how quickly you abandoned him during his trial, my sympathy extends only to your son." He cocked his head, his mesmeric dark eyes penetrating Lily's deeper than Albus suspected she would like anyone to see. "James's death was very convenient for you, wasn't it?"</p><p>Her lips stretched in a thin, humorless smile, her eyes cold. "You may think you know many things, Riddle, but you have no conception of what goes on behind the doors of my own home."</p><p>A dark smile flickered across Tom's own face. "On the contrary, I would argue that after seven years straight of watching you both mature, I can hazard a <em>rather</em> accurate guess."</p><p>Lily's green eyes flashed dangerously, but before she could respond, he continued, "I would say I'm disappointed I'm only important enough for the MLE to send their Undersecretary, but yours was not the power I felt arrive."</p><p>"Oh?" she raised her eyebrows innocently, turning to the thin air to her right. "Perhaps you sense my colleague." Immediately, the lanky form of Nostradamus Trelawney, Director of the Agency for Conservative Management and Inspection, materialized, deftly folding an Invisibility Cloak and draping it over his left arm. "You're acquainted, I believe."</p><p>Tom stiffened immediately. "Trelawney," he practically spat, palpable hate radiating from his carefully controlled features. "Managed to make any accurate predictions lately? What about your own death?" He twirled his wand between his fingers, then raised it ever-so-slightly in Trelawney's direction. "I have a feeling it's going to be soon."</p><p>"Still sore about that nasty business two decades ago?" Trelawney sneered condescendingly, obviously threatened by Tom's superiority to him in nearly every way, Albus thought, though by this <em>n</em>th iteration of the scene the amusement had faded somewhat. "The same fate's coming to you, you know. That isn't a premonition. That's a fact." His nasally voice raised. "Every one of you in this room is under arrest for conspiracy against the Sovereignty—!"</p><p>"Oh, save your ramblings for someone who cares, <em>Twit</em>lawney, you know as well as I do you aren't the authority figure here," Tom interrupted, before his eyes snapped to the exact location Albus knew his past self was standing. "Quit your dramatics and join us, Dumbledore; we all have other things we could be doing with our time."</p><p>Trelawney spluttered. "That's <em>Your Grace</em> to you, you Fusty-loving insurrectionist—"</p><p>"Kindly refrain from using vulgarities in the presence of our regal monarch and Scotland's most respected chieftans, Director Trelawney; it reflects poorly on the hallowed office you represent," Tom interrupted sardonically, with all the reproach of a natural headmaster.</p><p>Despite the utter lack of deference in Riddle's tone and request, Albus remembered smiling.</p><p>The invisibility charm around him dropped. Albus had to give himself credit where it was due: The Sovereign of fourteen years prior cut a wonderfully imposing figure, cloaked in brilliant robes of scarlet and gold, tinges of white and grey skillfully peppering his (admittedly dyed) red hair, the glow of his own power casting its own illumination on the room's inhabitants. Even the torches sensed his presence, their flames blazing higher.</p><p>The faces of every man and woman in the room turned ashen.</p><p>Many stumbled backward into the far wall; others visibly tried to Disapparate despite Lily's warning, with no success. Only Tom remained as collected as ever.</p><p>"Dumbledore," he said evenly.</p><p>"Mr. Riddle," his past self serenely replied. "I'm afraid it's been far too long since our last conversation."</p><p>Tom gave him a long, measured look before he began to slowly pace in front of them. "Given that our last conversation ended with you threatening to put me in chains if I so much as stepped inside the Phoenix again, I can honestly say I would have preferred it be a bit longer."</p><p>The Sovereign smiled indulgently. "You know as well as I do that I can easily find and incarcerate you whenever I so desire."</p><p>Tom looked over at him flatly. "Don't flatter yourself; enough others do that for you."</p><p>Albus saw his past self withhold another amused smile. He knew how much he had missed the attractive challenge Tom Riddle had always presented. "Then let me ask you, Mr. Riddle: What do you hope to gain from this? These protests and clandestine meetings and this scurrying behind closed doors?"</p><p>The man who had been many things and then nothing to him threw his head back in a humorless laugh. "For your sake, I truly hope that's a rhetorical question."</p><p>The Sovereign clasped his hands behind his back, wandering closer to the shield between them. "You must realize the wants of a few are far outweighed by the needs of a nation. You are severely outnumbered and overpowered. You know as well as I do that you cannot win; you will not win." The torch flames on either side of him rose with the force of his voice as he continued, "No. You, Mr. Riddle, will be nothing but a <em>pinpoint</em> on the pages of history, and you, and all those who stand with you—" his piercing blue eyes shifted to the wizards who were now cowering behind Tom "—will be utterly and totally crushed on the day of my choosing."</p><p>Tom finally stopped moving directly in front of the Sovereign. "You might have a lot of strengths, Dumbledore. But last I checked, Divination wasn't one of them." His gaze flicked pointedly in Trelawney's direction. "Nor is it to your… lackeys."</p><p>Nostradamus snarled.</p><p>As Tom skillfully continued to distract them with his verbal dance, Albus stepped around the scene. He watched as Lucius Malfoy ever so subtly relayed from wizard to witch the message of how to proceed given the Portkeys were down and anti-Disapparitition charms were up. He watched as 24 wizards steadied themselves and gripped their wands.</p><p>And, as Lucius Malfoy casually dropped the slightly lifted fingers of his left hand from three… to two… to one —</p><p>Every conservative wizard present threw their wands toward the back of the room. <em>"EXPULSO!" </em></p><p>The brick wall of the tunnel exploded outward, taking 15 Phoenix agents waiting on the other side with it. Light from the street beyond burst into the room like a flood lamp. Shouts erupted and spells flashed as the conservatives stampeded for the gaping hole, battling additional members of the Order blocking toward their escape.</p><p>In a split second, the Sovereign's wand had whirled. <em>"Dispergo!"</em></p><p>The shield Tom had erected shuddered and heaved and a thunderclap and blinding light exploded from it; the Sovereign swiftly repeated the spell and the shield shattered. In the same motion he threw his wand again, his voice resonating through the meeting room and into the street. <em>"IMMOBILUS!"</em></p><p>Utter stillness and silence instantly encapsulated the room and those fighting beyond it.</p><p>Even Lily Evans and Nostradamus Trelawney were frozen beside him, wands drawn, Trelawney's face fixed in a most unbecoming feral yell.</p><p>The only motion flowed from the silvery shield Tom Riddle had conjured around himself, still flowing from the wand he had pointed directly at the Sovereign's face.</p><p>Tom lowered the shield stiffly and stepped back and to the side of a frozen chieftain as the Sovereign stepped forward and around him. "I hope you realize all you've lost by choosing this foolish path, Tom," he said conversationally. "Your capacity to deftly balance the Light Arts with the Dark is unparalleled by any other witch or wizard I have seen. You could have been truly great, second only to me. But instead you've chosen to limit yourself by these outdated notions of what rightful magical practice <em>should</em> be — rather than what it actually is."</p><p>Tom's expression darkened. "I know exactly what I've lost. And it was not 'greatness.' " He twisted the word as though it were a curse.</p><p>The Sovereign shook his head in disappointment. "Truly, I expected more from such a powerfully curious and inventive mind as yours. Succumbing to your emotions for another long passed, rather than accepting the gift I am offering freely? The path I have discovered will lead to the truth of what lies within you — what lies within all of us! The fight to understand and control the full capacity of our magical ability — that is the noblest of battles, Mr. Riddle. Not this childish game of dissent to exact some passing retribution."</p><p>Tom's jaw tightened. "Childish game? My objection to your order that even unwilling men, women and children must practice the Darkest of Arts is a <em>childish game?"</em> he echoed in disbelief. "That mandate isn't <em>noble, </em>Dumbledore, that's a crime against the humanity of those people! And perhaps one day, the rest of the world will be as courageous and strong as she was to stand with me and echo the same!"</p><p>The Sovereign's typically imperturbable expression twisted into one of growing anger. "What ignorants call oppressive, the world over hails as <em>pro</em>gressive!"</p><p>"Then the world you speak of is as complicit as you are!"</p><p>The afternoon light streaming into the destroyed wall began to dim markedly as he suddenly advanced on Riddle. "I have no time for this quixotic nonsense! The only <em>crime</em> I see, Mr. Riddle, is you and your followers' denial of our greatest potential as wizards! Dark Magick is as much a part of us as Light; the sooner all those of limited intellect accept this and enter into a balance between both, the sooner our country shall collectively unlock and unveil the greatest power and creations the world has ever seen!"</p><p>The room had turned all but black save the torch flames, and the walls had begun to shake, dust and brick crumbling from the musty ceilings. Yet Tom stepped into the chaos fearlessly, his dark eyes blazing with a hatred he had masterfully concealed for decades. "You selfish, conscienceless son of a bitch. Does your depraved desire for power know no bounds?"</p><p><em>"</em><em>I - have - no - bounds!" </em>the Sovereign thundered, a fiery Phoenix springing — in the heat of the moment perhaps even unconsciously — from the center of his chest and setting upon his longtime mentee. The torches lining the walls flared to blazing infernos; actual tongues of fire hovered above the magnificent Phoenix insignia on the Sovereign's robes. "How long will the ghost of that<em> witch's</em> woefully misbegotten convictions continue to poison your mind?"</p><p>Tom countered the attack with a vacuum shield that sucked the flames into an airless void. "Long enough to finish what she began and convince everyone who listens that the only one poisoning minds in this country is <em>you!" </em></p><p>Stillness again descended, and they both paused for breath, only the echo of Tom's yell audible in the silence. The supernatural darkness began to fade, and the space brightened as sunlight sliced through the opaque air.</p><p>The Sovereign placidly brushed some dust from the sleeves of his robes, the only evidence that the outburst between them had ever occurred. "Well then," he said, his voice once again pleasant, "As it seems your own conscience has been irreparably deformed, I'm afraid I shall have no choice but to irreparably extinguish you and your cause from the face of this nation."</p><p>Tom must have known what was coming next; in a flash, he dropped to his knee and with his left hand wandlessly conjured a shield a millisecond before the Sovereign hurled the tip of his wand and his full might into a stunning spell. As the shield heaved but held in a brilliant flash of red, Tom gathered himself, pointed his wand straight up at the ceiling, and, channeling his power in what was perhaps one of the most impressive spontaneous displays of magic from another wizard that Albus had witnessed, bellowed, <em>"FINITE INCANTATUM!"</em></p><p>Pure energy visibly pulsed up from the center of his being and exploded out through the end of his wand in a wave of silver, and the air itself seemed to shatter with an earsplitting <em>crack!</em></p><p>Suddenly, sound and movement burst out around them and spells began to ricochet off the walls.</p><p>He had broken the Sovereign's Immobulus Charm.</p><p>"They're out the back; move in!" Lily exclaimed into her handheld transciever, leaping forward.</p><p>On only seven occasions in his very long life had wizards prematurely terminated a spell Albus Dumbledore had cast. Three times, it had been Gellert Grindelwald.</p><p>Four, it had been Tom Riddle.</p><p>Power and fury pulled at the Sovereign's chest; he released it toward Tom in a surge of fire that Tom matched with a torrent of water, the two forces struggling to smother the life from the other. The sides of the room shook and began to crumble while, from his outside perspective, Albus waited.</p><p>And then it happened.</p><p>As he gave a wide berth to the Sovereign and Tom's dual, Nostodamus Trelawney froze and went rigid. His eyes flashed golden.</p><p>Over the confusion he suddenly shouted in a foreign, raspy baritone,<em> "Beware, you who hear — The day of eclipse draws near!"</em></p><p>Lily swiftly ripped through a chieftain with a violent curse, then twisted her head back toward her colleague with raised eyebrows, while both the Sovereign and Tom pulled apart their locked spells and stared as Trelawney continued in an otherworldly voice that was not his own, <em>"Before you breathe your last, you will see the Ancient Ones' Magick restored to the earth, succumb to the luminous red nova at the heart of the firebird's power, witness magic stand still before your very eyes and experience death itself turned backward! The strength of the Source will manifest at the joined—"</em></p><p>A rogue jet of blue light slammed squarely into his chest.</p><p>A surprised shout that could have belonged to any of them cut through the air as Trelawney was hurled through the half-destroyed wall and out of sight outside.</p><p>With an unearthly roar that began deep in his belly and resonated up through his chest in an almost deafening rumble, the Sovereign threw out his arms and from his open palms unleashed a wave of energy that violently flung away both Phoenix and conservative in its path. What remained of the wall exploded outward and disintegrated into dust; as it cleared, Trelawney's still-rigid body was revealed laying sprawled, his back to them, at the feet of Lucius Malfoy.</p><p>Malfoy was staring down at Trelawney, his mouth partially agape.</p><p>Then Trelawney went limp, a gaping hole visible in his chest even at their distance from him. He was clearly dead.</p><p>In a heartbeat, the Sovereign raised his hand and yanked it back toward him in a silent <em>Accio, </em>his howl slicing through the heart of every witch, wizard and Muggle within hearing range."Bring that man to <em>me!"</em></p><p>In the same motion, Riddle pointed his wand at Malfoy and bellowed, <em>"Obliviate!" </em></p><p>Both spells struck Lucius Malfoy simultaneously.</p><p>As the conflict continued, Albus thoughtfully clasped his hands behind his back. "Manifest at the joined," he mumbled contemplatively — the same mantra over which he had ruminated for more than a decade. <em>At the joined…</em></p><p>
  <em>Halves of magic?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Celestial bodies?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Witches and wizards pre-selected to channel such an honor?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Magical artifacts? Pieces of a wand, a puzzle… a </em>
  <strong>
    <em>riddle?</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>"Watching it once more will make it no clearer, Your Grace."</p><p>Albus looked from the raised figures in the magnificently carved golden pensieve basin to Lily Evans, who was leaning against the doorframe of the gilded entrance to his office suite. Sleek auburn hair cascaded over her left shoulder, understanding in her eyes. "Believe me," she said, "I know all too well."</p><p>"Indeed, Viceroy Evans, I imagine you do." With a wave of his hand, he vanished the memory and wandered from the pensieve stand tucked within a corner of the vast room and into the heart of his royal chambers, perched at the head of the sprawling Phoenix complex that doubled as his winter home. These walls, lavishly bedecked in deep reds, golds and whites, had been filled with great love and passions, nearly every available surface covered with inventions, honors, gifts and exquisite treasures from his travels and allies.</p><p>The fact of the matter was that it could be any or <em>all</em> of those things, and until he extracted that particularly irksome memory from Lucius Malfoy's stubbornly impeded mind, Albus could not in good faith embark upon any of the hundreds of plans forward he had formulated in the days since the prophecy's making.</p><p>No. The puzzle must first be completed.</p><p>Albus again glanced toward Lily, surveying her once, briefly. "From the pleased expression you're trying to hide and early hour at which I find you at my doors, I expect the Ministry of Magical Investigation and Incident Response has completed its final report on the Hangar incident."</p><p>She inclined her head, once. "Your insight knows no bounds, Your Grace." The expected due regard of her words was a significant contrast to the sharp, calculating professionalism that cut through her every action, and Albus valued her highly for her ability to balance both.</p><p>"And I take it its conclusions do not bode well for certain members of the Weasley family."</p><p>Her lips stretched in a decidedly pleased smile. "They do not."</p><p>Albus nodded thoughtfully. "I suspect few to no additions to our original postulation were made."</p><p>"None at all." Lily strolled inside and waved her hand at the hand-carved African blackwood desk given to him by the Muggle Queen; a thick, rolled scroll appeared. "Negligence. Plain as day. Both Weasleys admit to a careless exit. Hagrid admits to an affair during his scheduled hours of employment. My people are dealing with the former. The papers are having a holiday with the latter." She crossed her arms, then added frostily, "That entire family is a joke, and their antics are literally burning a hole in our reputation, not to mention Hogwarts grounds. If this isn't reason to demand Arthur's resignation, I don't know what is."</p><p>Albus caught sight of the pair of Legilimancy-blocking spectacles on his desk beside the MIIR's report— the latest from Muggle-Magical Technological Integration; Arthur had dropped them off yesterday — and wandered over to it, lifting and examining them keenly. "Doing as you suggest would isolate our Old-Blood allies and demonstrate a blanket intolerance for a specific subgroup of our populace based on blood alone that we have assured world governments we do not have," he said placidly. "Such an act is, among many things, politically unwise."</p><p>He straightened and turned back around, leveling an even, penetrating gaze upon her. "I know the source of your hatred, Viceroy Evans, just as you know why I am one of the few men you have not felt the need to destroy nor had to power to manipulate to your will. But all are welcome in this country who accept the balance of Light and Dark. As my first-in-command, you must remember this, and I find I am growing tired of repeating it."</p><p>She pursed her lips together, clearly displeased, and nodded shortly. "Of course, Your Grace; it will not happen again."</p><p>"I am very glad to hear it." Albus expected he would have to remind her at least a dozen more times before her hostility somewhat ceased. For any other witch or wizard, he would have shown no tolerance. Lily Evans, however, was the rare, thorny flower with poisonous fruit that was a battle to cultivate and maintain but was utterly magnificent, and fully worth the difficulty, when in full bloom.</p><p>"Have you anything more?" he asked amicably, his hand creeping toward the ruby and diamond-encrusted gold tin of lemon drops on his desk, even though he'd sworn them off temporarily. The Sovereignty's grand Halloween Masquerade was that evening, and he'd been quite irked when the sovereign tailor had needed to let out his costume slightly during its final fitting the day before — "to maximize his comfort," the man had assured him hastily. "Elphias informs me I am having breakfast with Mr. Wood and the England Quidditch team at 9:00, and I must say, I'm quite looking forward to the spectacle."</p><p>Lily looked prepared to leave, before she turned abruptly. "I find I am not fully satisfied with the explanation for the Hogwarts explosion."</p><p>Albus had wondered when she would breach this topic. He raised his eyebrows. "Go on."</p><p>"Every single animal managed to escape alive. It seems to me at least one of the more dim-witted specimens should have met a fiery end."</p><p>He had briefly considered the same thing the night he'd visited his old school, before he had dismissed it. Still, he welcomed the distraction from the insidious lemon drop nearly within his grasp, and turned away from his desk.</p><p>"Beasts can be the most resourceful of creatures in the face of disaster, sensing an impending catastrophe long before even the most observant human," he said. "I would not underestimate their ability to extricate themselves to safety."</p><p>"I don't disagree with that, sir." Lily glanced behind her, making sure the doors to his chambers were closed, before she stepped closer, her voice low. "The MIIR doesn't know the true purpose of that workplace; the symbolism of the destruction of a building on Hogwarts grounds that originated in the heart of our centaur undertaking on its final night would be lost on them. Add to that the 'malfunctioning' surveillance units?" She shook her head, her green eyes darkening with the growing acid in her voice. "It smells like <em>Riddle." </em></p><p>He immediately shook his head unconcernedly; he had already considered this the very day the incident occurred. "Mr. Riddle and Ms. Black are out of the question; I would know immediately. We've had no incidents since the final suppression. If we did not succeed in rooting out every sympathizer to that cause as we believe we have, which I quite doubt but would be foolish to rule out entirely, I can see no rational explanation as to what they would gain from making their first stand at a Hogwarts facilities building, no matter the symbolism. Furthermore, the brilliance and magical talent required for such a prodigious deception quite frankly narrows the pool of suspects to a most limited handful of individuals, and as Arthur reported to me yesterday, all of them have substantiated alibis."</p><p>"Which only makes the true culprit all the more dangerous if they've evaded our suspicion thus far," Lily pointed out.</p><p>Albus sighed and clasped his hands behind him pensively, descending into the ruminations of his fathomless mind as he again found himself walking through the Hangar's blackened ruins, which Shacklebolt had encased in protective enchantments until Albus arrived. When he reached the epicentre of the crater the blast had produced, he swooped down, running his hands a millimetre over the ground until he sensed it:</p><p>The subtle tingling of magical residue.</p><p>In his left hand, he scooped up a bit of charred rubble, and in his right conjured one of his most valuable creations and held it over the remains. Casting non-verbally an exquisitely balanced enchantment he had invented himself that was known only to him, the machination sprung to life and began to hungrily suck at the magic encased within the powdery debris.</p><p>When the wisp of swirling grey light emerged from the handful of rubble, rising until it hovered slightly above the instrument's pull, Shacklebolt quickly stepped beside him with a testing kit, and together they compared the residue Albus had extracted from the earth with a recent sample from the Messrs. Weasley and Weasley.</p><p>It was a match.</p><p>Weasley products had fueled the primary explosion. If the last centaur had still been alive at the time of the Weasleys' departure, then it, of course, could have been behind the ultimate ignition of said explosive materials, but that was something they could never know.</p><p>Albus made his decision and turned toward Lily. "From the evidence I have personally reviewed, I can only conclude that in this case, as is with many accidents, the obvious is indeed what truly occurred. It is my wish that the majority of our energy is thrown into ensuring that next year's World Cup is a resounding success, not chasing a shadow that very likely does not exist."</p><p>This time, Lily looked not only displeased but truly unsettled, and Albus paused. "Still, I have learned a great deal about your instincts these many years. You have my permission to channel a <em>very</em> limited amount of resources toward following them until you are satisfied we have no enemies hidden within Hogwarts' walls."</p><p>Her attitude changed immediately, and she nodded once, a decidedly pleased pull at the corners of her lips. "Very good, Your Grace; it will be done. I have eyes at Hogwarts. No additional resources will be needed."</p><p>"That is most excellent." Albus meandered toward the great expanse of windows set between sweeping floor-to-ceiling, deep red curtains, peering out over the London skyline. Fawkes swooped down, settling on his shoulder, and Albus's thoughts were again drawn to his preoccupation early that morning.</p><p>"Less than two months, Lily," he said. "Less than two months and we shall discover exactly how to harness the celestial power of the heavens themselves." The supreme curiosity that powered his mind quivered with barely-restrained eagerness and impatience. "Something is coming, something not even I have seen before. I do not typically put great stock in prophecies, but you and I have witnessed the eclipse of the one faction that would stand against our advancement and watched them succumb absolutely beneath our collective might. If we are proactive, as we have been, what will follow is, I must say, fairly incontrovertible. What grand discoveries await us upon channeling the raw energy of the Source? Singular control over all of magic? Victory over death?"</p><p>Lily drew up alongside him, staring calculatingly into the grey morning. "And if the prophecy leads elsewhere? If we find it is somehow inaccessible to us?"</p><p>Albus felt his attention drawn back to the pair of spectacles, and he turned away from the windows. "Why do you think I've experimented with House-Wizards as I have? Even if it is initially inaccessible, we shall know exactly who or what we need to capture and unite to manifest the Ancient Ones' power." He looked at her, smiling serenely. "And then we shall siphon from them every drop of magic they possess."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hmmm. This doesn't seem to bode well for our group of rebels. Thoughts on the prophecy? Dumbledore's ominous plans?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Alektorophobia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another double-header weekend!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco was in a cocoon of warmth, his mind blissfully blank. He hadn't felt so deeply relaxed nor so free of any nightmare in…</p><p>Well, in years.</p><p>He let out a soft sigh and burrowed more deeply into material as soft as silk, his eyelids heavy. Over a constant sound of flowing water, he could hear extremely loud chirping. <em>Oh birds of Scotland, how I've missed the indefatigable cheerfulness of your 5:00 am serenade, </em>he thought sardonically, torn between irritation at the bloody things and honest-to-Merlin gratefulness that he was even able to hear the sounds of nature again. He rolled onto his back, reluctant to open his eyes, and stretched, inhaling deeply.</p><p>The unmistakable scent of hot-on-the-stove scrambled eggs met his nose.</p><p>All thoughts but those of guilt flew from his mind. Exactly where he was — and what was happening — slammed into him.</p><p>She was making breakfast — again. Which meant he'd overslept — <em>again.</em></p><p>"Damn," he mumbled, shoving a hand through his hair and pushing it out of his eyes, squinting in the bright light streaming through billowing, sheer curtains. After a moment, he groggily reached over and replaced the stopper in the open bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion beside the bed, pulled back pristine white sheets, and stumbled to his feet.</p><p>He dressed quickly, surrounded by rustic furniture bedecked in simple decor. He had been so deprived of sunlight for so many months that he couldn't help but allow himself to be momentarily drawn to the large, curved opening in the wood-planked wall, one that led to a plant-covered balcony and the bright "sky" beyond. Actual warmth touched his icy skin, and he allowed himself the briefest of moments to relish the sensation before plunging into what he knew would be another emotionally exhausting day.</p><p>A day of literally walking through beloved yet heart-wrenchingly painful memories.</p><p>One. By One. By One.</p><p>A week, he realized. It had been a full week since he and Pansy had moved down to this bizarre, magically-generated paradise; a week since he and Riddle had begun 'pensieve therapy' with his father to try to jar Lucius's lost memories.</p><p>In a way, it was stranger now for Draco to think of Lucius as 'his father' than when he had never met him at all. The man still had no true memory of Draco or the woman who had spoken of him so lovingly. Earlier that week, Lucius had overheard Draco refer to him as 'my father' during a conversation with Riddle, and it had agitated him so greatly that Draco been careful to never make the mistake of doing it again.</p><p>No, right now, Draco was getting to know an almost complete stranger. Lucius was doing well absorbing facts with ease, picking up spells and knowledge with a detached familiarity that suggested he had known them in a previous life — though he couldn't recall the experiences of his Hogwarts education that explained how he could understand difficult magical concepts quite so well.</p><p>But it was painfully apparent he lacked the emotional connection that accompanied memories. Whenever his father looked at him, Draco could see in his equally gray eyes that the man did not identify him as family, and it had wrenched open a hole in Draco's chest that he hadn't felt since his first year of Hogwarts, when the alliteration of "fatherless Fusty" had made him an easy Gryffindor and Hufflepuff target.</p><p>According to Riddle, jarring any of Lucius's buried emotions, if they existed, was the best chance they had of bringing back his father's memories, at least in a somewhat expedient way. Little by little, they had begun the slow process of showing Lucius relevant memories — not so many as to overwhelm him, but enough to begin to give him a sense of the life he'd had before he'd been captured, in the hopes of triggering <em>something</em>.</p><p>In the pensieve with Riddle and his father, Draco had relived some of his own memories of Narcissa telling him stories about herself and Lucius, and, courtesy of Riddle, witnessed scenes from Lucius' time at Hogwarts, a few planning meetings from the early days of the war, and Lucius's and his mother's wedding.</p><p>For the first five days, this approach appeared disappointingly unsuccessful. At first, Lucius had seemed somewhat curious, but then he quickly descended into suspicion about their motives, and became aloof and impassive. After everything he'd gone through in the hands of the Sovereignty, Draco honestly couldn't blame him for it.</p><p>But yesterday, they'd been given the slightest glimmer of hope… however twisted. It had come in the midst of the marriage ceremony. While Draco's grandfather Abraxas, the wedding's officiator, narrated the proceedings, the soft-spoken present-day Lucius had become increasingly distraught. By the time his and Narcissa's exchange of vows arrived, he had demanded they exit the memory.</p><p>Draco briefly squeezed his eyes shut against the painfully fresh recollection: of watching, to his right, his mother and father — his mother hardly older than Draco was now — holding hands and practically glowing with happiness, younger versions of so many people he'd known as older adults dabbing at their eyes… and to his left, the world-weary iteration of Lucius Malfoy screaming.</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>End it! End it, I tell you!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>You feel something," Riddle noted, studying him intently. </em>
</p><p><em>"</em><em>F-f-feel?" Lucius spluttered at him. "Of course I </em>feel!<em> What do you take me for? A — Another cog in your machine?!" </em></p><p>
  <em>Riddle stepped closer, his dark gaze boring in to Lucius's. "Describe to me what you feel."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lucius quickly took a step away from him. "You - You say you're my… my friends, are you? Yet you will not honor my demand to leave this place?!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>Riddle —" Draco began hoarsely, hardly able to stand watching his father's aggrieved reaction himself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Riddle held up a hand, shooting him a brief but stern look that clearly said, 'Wait,' before turning his attention back to Lucius. The gaunt man had clenched his scraggly hair tightly, his eyes wild, and sank to his knees. "Why are you doing this to me?" he exclaimed in anguish. "What do you want from me?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Riddle's calm intensity was an eerie juxtaposition to Lucius' distressed hysterics. "This memory in particular seems to be bothering you. Is this scene… familiar to you?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>No! What bothers me is your — your perverse desire to force me into someone I'm not! These 'memories?' Tricks to make me confess to something for which I have no answer!" Lucius flung his hand toward his younger self and Narcissa, who were now sharing a kiss to the standing ovation of the wedding guests. " I am not this man!" he shouted over the sound of the applause. "Do you hear me? I AM NOT THIS MAN!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The smothering pain in Draco's chest became unbearable, and he could take it no longer. He sprung forward, grasping Riddle's arm. "You must stop this! It's too much for him!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Riddle spared him a glance that held faint frustration. "Draco—" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lucius shoved a finger toward them, his usually mild-mannered expression twisted into a snarl that reminded Draco of someone else entirely. "AND I AM NOT THAT BOY'S FATHER!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The air left Draco's lungs; such pain exploded from his soul itself that he might as well have been cursed. His hand fell limply to his side. He clenched his fingers tightly and then turned dully from the scene, staring blankly at the ground behind them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>'He isn't himself; he doesn't know what he's saying,' some part of him thought numbly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But that didn't stop Draco's heart from feeling like it'd been ripped from his chest.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The scene around them shifted back into the familiar soaring circular wood atrium, though Draco hardly noticed. Beyond the rushing water outside, the space was silent as the three men stood motionlessly, one trembling over his knees, one slumped in deep sorrow, one relaxed save the slightest of disappointed droops to his shoulders… and all very much alone. </em>
</p><p>Draco's hands ached, and he realized suddenly he was gripping the balcony railing tightly.</p><p>He choked in a breath, blinking rapidly and shaking his head against the memories before forcing himself to release the ledge.</p><p>Riddle had apologized to him privately afterward, though he also called the occurrence "an encouraging development." Draco had been too drained to respond with the rush of anger that he'd initially felt when Riddle had hesitated in honoring both his and his father's wishes to exit the memory.</p><p>But later that night, he'd had to admit that Riddle was right.</p><p>Even though the response had been far from positive, Lucius had seen a poignant memory, and he had <em>felt</em> something.</p><p>And after that incident, Draco needed that very encouragement to get <em>himself</em> through the next round of pensieve therapy.</p><p>He took a few more breaths in an attempt to calm himself before heading downstairs. A midnight blue butterfly flitted by the window, landing on a particularly broad leaf within the cascade of greenery climbing the massive structure that housed them.</p><p>Riddle called these strange buildings 'Tributes' — <em>"To life. To death. To those who lost their lives in the struggle for our freedom. To the masterminds who created the spells I used to build them," — </em>he'd explained to Draco earlier that week.</p><p>The unspeakable beauty of the Chamber was, quite honestly, a godsend. Any of the initial trepidation Draco may have felt about severing much of his contact with Hermione to stay here had been replaced by an immense gratitude for the opportunity to experience living in a place of absolute peace… no matter how brief it might turn out to be.</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>There's no arguing it. You'll be far safer there," Hermione had said the morning after their first visit to the Chamber. "I might have put up warning charms, but the fact of the matter is that anyone can still barge in here: McGonagall, House-Elves… your mother," she added with a glance at Evans. He was sitting on the common room sofa in typical Evans fashion: arms crossed, face displeased.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>But it'd be so much harder to see the both of you and Peia," Pansy protested, giving Evans a torn glance for a different reason entirely. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>Harry and I can have Peia show us how to open the passageway to the Chamber," Hermione said. "It'll make it easier for us to visit more often, and involve her less. It's too risky to try to find her anytime we might need to get ahold of — well — him." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>I hope you realize being a Parselmouth is a hereditary trait," </em>
  <em>Evans butted in.</em>
  <em> "I don't know about you, but I certainly don't plan on doing any genetic intermingling with Salazar Slytherin's offspring anytime soon." </em>
</p><p><em>"</em><em>It </em>is<em> possible to learn the Parseltongue word for "open" without being a Parselmouth," Hermione said dryly. "Anyway, you were quite adept at it where I come from." At his raised eyebrow of disbelief, she quickly added, "Long story. Very long story."</em></p><p>
  <em>Pansy turned toward him. "Draco, what about you? It's your father who's down there. If any of us would want to spend more time there, it's you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco had been silent up until that point, ruminating over the answer to that very question. Pansy was right — if he stayed here, he'd have very little opportunity to be near the man who still didn't remember he was Draco's father. At the same time, if he was in the Chamber, he couldn't very well support Hermione… and he'd given her his sincere word that he would.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He took a small breath and glanced toward her. "Where would we be of greater use?" he asked simply, though he suspected he already knew what her answer would be.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She didn't hesitate in her reply, her tone full-on professional. "You know what Riddle said. Every bit of time you spend with him might bring him that much closer to remembering something." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco wasn't sure if he should be hurt or grateful she had dismissed him so rapidly. </em>
</p><p><em>Obviously he was as terrible at hiding his thoughts now as he'd ever been, because for the briefest of moments, her countenance softened. "He's your </em>father,<em> Draco — he needs you. Even if he… doesn't know it yet." </em></p><p><em>Draco felt a rush of gratitude and relief he couldn't properly explain. Had he been afraid he'd have to choose one person he cared about deeply over another? Either way, that simple exchange between them assured him that didn't have to be the case</em>.</p><p>
  <em>He gave Hermione the slightest of nods, which she returned, blessed understanding in her gaze.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>Pansy," he said, feeling a smile tug at his eyes before he composed his face and shifted his focus back to his childhood friend, "prepare to have your mind utterly blown." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her dark eyebrows raised warily. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>The Chamber of Secrets holds the most monstrous creatures you can possibly imagine," he began ominously. "Descended from the fiercest of reptiles. Scaly claws as sharp as knives." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Pansy's blue eyes widened slightly, while in the background he heard Evans mutter, "Oh, for the love of Godric Gryffindor…"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>Oh, I assure you, Evans, their love is for Salazar Slytherin alone," he said knowingly. "You can hear them in the early morning, scavenging for food, screeching for their mates—" Draco glanced toward Hermione, who had crossed her arms and was shaking her head with a reluctant smile of thorough disapproval, "—and only the bravest of witches and wizards have dared call them by their true name…" He grinned mischievously back at an appalled-looking Pansy. "…chickens."</em>
</p><p><em>"</em><em>Oh! You—" Pansy swatted a pillow in his direction, and he leapt out of the way, chortling. "</em>Draco<em> Malfoy!" </em></p><p>"I see you're taking full advantage of those Chamber monsters this week," Draco commented as he descended the spiral stairs to the open kitchen, where Pansy was scraping scrambled eggs onto two plates beside a simple stove, her dark hair tumbling down her back. The scene was so peculiarly domestic after two years of imprisonment that Draco momentarily felt as if he was walking through an outlandish dream, rather than reality.</p><p>"Yes, well luckily for me they aren't half as horrifying as you would have me believe," she replied without turning.</p><p>He came up alongside her, leaning the polished, dark walnut cane that Riddle had given him to help with his leg against the stove. "I disagree; I personally find them terrifying."</p><p>At this, Pansy gave him a queer expression.</p><p>"They <em>peck</em> at you," he explained indignantly, his theatrical aggravation more lighthearted than zealous. A pile of blueberries were drying on a tea towel; he slid them across the smooth wooden counter and began dividing them between the plates. "My trousers are not chicken feed, I'll have you know."</p><p>She laughed. "Oh Draco, they're just curious little things."</p><p>"Well, they can take their curiosity away from my legs."</p><p>She continued to chuckle. "Then you and Harry would have at least once thing in common."</p><p>He furrowed his brow. "What… Alektorophobia? That can't be right. Evans wouldn't admit to being terrified of anything."</p><p>Pansy laughed again — in happier spirits here than Draco had ever seen her since the war had begun. "You goof. How in the world do you even <em>know</em> the word for that?"</p><p>"I told you. Chickens. Terrified." He swept both their plates off the counter and over to the nearest end of a long wooden table that could have accommodated at least six times their number. "I did research."</p><p>She sat down across from him. "Well, Harry might hate the chickens as well, but I'm not quite certain 'terrified' would be a word he'd use to describe himself."</p><p>"No, it wouldn't be, would it?" Draco mused, gazing thoughtfully at the vaulting wooden ceiling. "No, if Evans had to face down a flock of chickens, I'm sure he'd think of himself as a barbaric hunter. Stonily impassive. Citadel of steel."</p><p>She giggled, digging into her eggs. "I'm so glad you haven't lost your ridiculousness, Draco."</p><p>The comment acknowledging his drollness ironically served to pull him back down to earth. "Me too," he said quietly, his attention shifting back to her. "Pans, I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I meant to actually be useful this morning. You should have woken me up to help; Merlin knows I've already slept more this week than Vincent Crabbe after his botched Somnius Potion."</p><p>"Vincent Crabbe!" she exclaimed. "Merlin, I haven't thought of that name in ages…" After a moment, she shrugged. "It's no problem, really. You've made lunch, and we all make dinner. It's only fair I take breakfast." Her eyes regarded him worriedly. "Draco, perhaps you should let yourself get as much rest as you can. The deeper you can sleep, the less the nightmares might affect you, and the few weeks you've had is hardly enough time to recover from two years of—"</p><p>She stopped speaking suddenly, and Draco felt his appetite abruptly deteriorate. He stared down at his eggs, the pity he knew was in her eyes crawling at the pit of his stomach.</p><p>"Well, I just mean to say that we all understand," she finished.</p><p>Frustration arose in his chest, and he hated himself for it. He knew her innocent words came from a place of love and care. But they <em>didn't</em> understand… not really. He didn't want to be treated like a glass house that could break at any moment. He didn't want people he cared about, people like Pansy and Riddle and his father (even though he didn't identify with that term), to continue to stare at his face and his arms and his hands and his limp with horror, and then look away quickly.</p><p>"Draco?" Pansy asked quietly, hesitant and nervous. "Did I… say something wrong?"</p><p>He looked up swiftly. "No. Merlin, no. No, not at all," he said quickly. When she didn't seem particularly convinced, he added, "Sorry, I'm… still just a bit out of sorts from — everything, I suppose."</p><p>He forced himself to start eating again, while she poked at her eggs.</p><p>"How are you doing? After… everything that happened yesterday?" she asked delicately after a minute.</p><p>"Trudging ahead, as per normal," he said jokingly, which was far more chipper than he really felt. "Riddle says it's all part of the process… thinks it shows we're getting closer to a breakthrough. Speaking of Evans, how is old happy face doing? " he asked, quickly jumping back to the earlier topic of conversation.</p><p>Pansy studied him for a second, clearly unprepared to change the subject, before she relented and gave him a slightly sour expression. "He's fine. You just missed him yesterday — he came by while you were with your father."</p><p>"He seems to have learned my schedule quickly. Always 'just missing' me," he said, feigning hurt. "Can you believe I think he's trying to avoid me?"</p><p>She smiled, shaking her head. "I don't know what it is with you two. You both resist even being in the same room with each other when you have so much in common." When Draco raised his eyebrows at her in disbelief, she elaborated, "You were both raised by a single mother, you both love Quidditch, you both can be total wise-arses…" She trailed off and paused. "You're both brilliant wizards…"</p><p>He laughed and waggled his finger at her. "Now you're just pulling at straws. Some things simply aren't in the stars, Pansy, and my and Evans' happy ending together is most assuredly one of them."</p><p>"Ah, well. I suppose your loss is still my gain. I get to have you both," Pansy said happily. She let out a soft sigh, gazing around their bucolic surroundings. "Merlin, we've only been here a week and this place has already done such wonders for my soul." She looked down at her half-empty plate. "I know I shouldn't cling to Harry so much anyway, I just haven't been able to be with him in so long…"</p><p>Draco was glad she was cognizant of her powerful attachment to Evans, though he couldn't exactly fault her for it — the two clearly cared for each other very much. That visible fact had been the only thing that had lessened Draco's initial concerns when he'd first suspected the two of a relationship.</p><p>"I'm fairly certain the clingship is mutual," he said thoughtfully. "Much as I struggle to see eye to eye with Evans on virtually everything, I can't begrudge the way he is with you." He made a small face. "Are you quite <em>certain</em> some Demiguise doesn't possess him every time you and he interact? It wouldn't even need to borrow his Invisibility Cloak to infiltrate Hogwarts."</p><p>"No!" she exclaimed, laughing and throwing a blueberry at him playfully; as his body reflexively tried to dodge the projectile, he gritted his jaw to restrain an automatic cringe. "He does have a wonderfully soft side, you know. You just have to be patient enough to coax it out of him."</p><p>He snorted. "Then I'm quite certain no one else will ever see it, Pans. Not a single person on Gaia's green earth has that amount of patience except you."</p><p>"Well, growing up with my father, I didn't have much of a choice."</p><p>Draco looked up quickly. Like Evans, Irenaeus Parkinson had been, in the words of Draco's mother, 'a difficult man to try to reason with and an even more different man to try to like.' But Draco remembered the few times he'd seen him and Pansy together — the love Irenaeus had felt for his only daughter, and vice versa, had been palpable. Pansy had never mentioned him since they'd been reunited, and Draco had assumed the elder Parkinson had died during the last days of the suppression. But he hadn't actually asked.</p><p>"Your father. Is — Is he…?"</p><p>"Dead?" She shook her head. "No. He's a - a House-Wizard.<em> Here,</em> actually." Her shoulders drooped slightly. "It isn't the… the best of situations, but at least he's still alive." Her face brightened. "Harry's going to help me try to see him, once everything with the Hangar calms down."</p><p>Draco smiled, genuinely happy for her. "I'm so glad, Pans."</p><p>"I asked Harry about Hermione," she added as Draco began to clear the plates from the table.</p><p>For the briefest of seconds, he stopped moving, then continued on his way to the sink. "What about her?" he asked when she said nothing more, trying to sound somewhat detached.</p><p>"Apparently she was invited to run The Haunt again. That's where she's been this whole week."</p><p>A flood of memories abruptly assaulted Draco, of darkness, pounding music, flashing lights, suffocatingly thick smoke, raucous laughter, unwanted, grasping hands, curses and pain.</p><p>So much pain.</p><p>"Draco?"</p><p>He blinked and his vision cleared; he found himself back in the safety of the Chamber of Secrets. He gripped the edge of the counter and choked in a shallow breath of relief, swallowing hard.</p><p>"Erm… yes," he forced himself to say, scrambling to rejoin the conversation without arousing concerned inquiry. "That — erm… that does explain why we haven't seen her at all."</p><p>"That's what I thought as well. I can't believe it's Halloween already." Pansy joined him, drying the dishes he had begun washing. "Last year My spent more time planning that one party than she did on all her homework for the entire year combined. Even with Gi - Ginevra<em>—" </em>Pansy stumbled over the name, suddenly looking quite ill — "co-chairing the planning committee with her. This year Harry says she refuses to work with Hermione, to which all I can say is 'thank Merlin' for Hermione's sake, but it's probably doubled her workload."</p><p>Of course, Draco thought, his mind returning to its normal function, though his heartbeat hadn't quite slowed. Gryffindor-run and invitation-only, "The Haunt" was Hogwarts' biggest — and most raucous — unofficial party, a nearly twenty-year Halloween tradition started by megastar Sirius Black himself when he was a Hogwarts student. In his time as a student neither Draco nor any Slytherin he knew had ever received one of the highly coveted invitations, but his time in captivity had been another story altogether.</p><p>And no doubt My Evans would be the undisputed Mistress of Ceremonies.</p><p>"Illegal drugs, sex, potions, alcohol…" Though he certainly felt for Hermione's plight, he couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle weakly at the thought of her mentally cursing over the planning of it while having to pretend to be wildly enthusiastic. "Merlin, she must be hating every second of it."</p><p>He finished the last bit of dishes and flicked water off his hands at Pansy; she squealed and ducked out of the way. He grabbed his cane. "I'm off. I'll be back in a bit."</p><p>"Draco," she said suddenly as he headed toward the door and the lush landscape outside it. He slowed and turned back toward her, his eyebrows raised slightly in question. "Do you remember, back in… Merlin, it must have been fifth year, when you turned down Daphne Greengrass for the second time and I asked you to describe a girl you'd actually date?"</p><p>Draco blinked in confusion. "What about it?"</p><p>"Do you remember what you told me?"</p><p>He thought for a moment, then froze. "Not… particularly," he said slowly.</p><p>"Draco, you do know that when it comes down to it you're a horrible liar."</p><p>Draco suddenly wanted to tear out of the Tribute; his grip on the cane tightened, but he couldn't bring his feet to move. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.</p><p>"Oh, Draco," she sighed. "Why don't you just <em>say—" </em></p><p>"Pansy, you can't tell anyone about that." He took several quick steps back toward her and met her searching gaze urgently, willing her to see the utmost importance of it in his. "Not - not her. Not anyone. Do you promise?<em>" </em></p><p>Pansy stared at him, confusion in her wide blue eyes. "I — I don't mean — that. I mean - Yes, I promise, but… if you fancy her, you should just <em>tell</em> her."</p><p>Draco shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. "It's a bit more complicated than that, I'm afraid." <em>In ways I can't even fathom facing now, </em>he thought. "Anyway, I rather think we've all got far bigger things with which to occupy ourselves than my love life, or lack of it."</p><p>The corners of her lips twisted downward sadly, her gaze concerned. "I just want to see you happy."</p><p>"I am happy," he replied earnestly. The automatically optimistic words left his mouth before he could think about them, but the moment they did, he realized they were true.</p><p>At Pansy's doubtful expression, he tried to put in words what he felt. "I won't lie. Of course life isn't… easy right now," he said, searching for the clearest way to express the warmth that, despite everything, still more often than not managed to pull at his chest. "There are obviously plenty of moments when I'm not… always… happy." He held out his hands, gesturing around him. "But look at us. Look how far we've come in - in a matter of <em>months.</em> I mean —" he let out an incredulous laugh, "—you're<em> alive,</em> and so's my father, and the one man on earth who can legitimately challenge Dumbledore, and we're all here, together, in this incredible place… And — And Hermione, by some inexplicable force of magic, is here from another <em>world</em>…" His brow furrowed thoughtfully, "And you and Evans are living out your bafflingly harmonious and merry relationship…"</p><p>Pansy let out a small laugh in spite of herself, and Draco trailed off, smiling at her with all the love he would have held toward a sibling had his parents given him any. <em>"That, </em>Pansy. That is why I'm happy."</p><p>She blinked rapidly, her eyes glistening, but then she returned his smile with a wavering one of her own. "And that is how you've survived unspeakable things the rest of us can't even imagine." She sighed. "I just wish you'd be a little more forward when it comes to some of the things that matter most to you."</p><p>"I'll have you know I am as forward as the front of your shoes," Draco retorted, feigning indignance. His eyes crinkled in the slightest of teases. "I do believe this is a case of what the most advanced of Mediwitches call, 'pot kettle black-tosis.' "</p><p>She tilted her head, her face pulling into the gentle pout she usually gave him when he deflected their conversation off himself. "You know what I mean. More — oh, I don't know. More selfish."</p><p>Guilt abruptly twisted painfully through his abdomen. He quickly shifted his gaze from her face, staring sightlessly at the grand staircase spiraling upward to the floors above. The smile faded from his eyes.</p><p>"I am selfish, Pans," he murmured, exhaustion settling into his bones like a heavy weight. "So much more than you might ever expect."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Part II of this chapter to come next week! Happy Father's Day to all the fathers, stepfather, godfathers and uncles out there. This chapter seems like good fit for the day given its theme.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Lies and Truths</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please be warned that this chapter has some intense scenes (flashbacks onward) depicting violence/oppression by an aggressing force that may be potentially uncomfortable for readers.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Riddle and Lucius were in the middle of a wizarding chess match when Draco swallowed his trepidation and entered Tribute A. 'A', he'd learned, stood not for the fact that it was the first Tribute Riddle had built, or first in the line of Tributes — it wasn't — but for the Latin phrase <em>Absit Invidia,</em> or "Let ill will be absent." Each Tribute had one such saying etched on the frame of its entranceway that also served as its identifier.</p><p>Since Tribute A seemed to be the community centre of the Chamber, rather than a sleeping facility, Draco supposed its moniker was fitting. It held an extensive library as well as a potions laboratory, clinic, general storerooms of herbs and other items, areas for meetings and reading and duelling practice, and a beautifully designed rotund strategic planning space in the very center of the uppermost floor that served as the war room.</p><p>Riddle, who was facing the doorway, noticed Draco's entrance immediately.</p><p>"Draco! Excellent," he exclaimed, abandoning his perusal of the chess board. "Pardon me, Lucius, I simply must show Draco the purple self-peeling sprouts you and I were discussing this morning. I know he's been waiting to see them in their maturation for quite some time."</p><p>Draco's brow knit. He unquestionably admired the Chamber of Secrets' vast edible gardens, sure, but he had certainly never expressed such enthusiastic interest over a specific species of sprouts.</p><p>As Lucius twisted in his seat to look toward him, his expression indecipherable, Draco desperately tried to avoid his gaze. Instead, he casually tilted his head ever-so-slightly, his eyes locked on Riddle's in question.</p><p>Riddle raised his left eyebrow a touch in response.</p><p>The meaning was clear.</p><p>"Erm — right, the, erm… purple spouts," Draco said hastily, forcing enthusiasm into his voice. "Amazing! Didn't think we'd see them for another week at least!"</p><p>The smallest of smiles tugged at Riddle's lips. "Yes, I was nearly as surprised when I came upon them this morning." He stood briskly, holding out a hand as he stepped away from the table. "Come. These are just out the back."</p><p>Draco nodded and followed him across the Tribute's base. He braced himself to meet Lucius's painfully suspicious gaze as he passed the game table. "Good morning," he greeted pleasantly.</p><p>Lucius gave him a strained smile and nodded once, wordlessly.</p><p>His recent roar of, <em>"I AM NOT THAT BOY'S FATHER!" </em>rang through Draco's mind.</p><p>Draco swallowed the abrupt, suffocating ache in his chest at his father's acknowledgement, or lack thereof, gripping his cane more tightly as he continued outside after Riddle. They passed through the knee-high, wind-rippled grasses surrounding Tribute A to a fenced-in patch encasing, among other herbs and edibles, what did indeed appear to the be vegetable in question.</p><p>Riddle waved his hand, erecting a Muffling Charm. "Good recovery in there," he said, a hint of humor in his voice.</p><p>If there had been a wall nearby, Draco would have banged his head against it. "Really, sir? Purple sprout enthusiast?" he asked, only partly joking. "Now, in addition to suspiciously scar-covered, magic-less misfit, possible Sovereignty spy, bothersome or possibly deranged pseudo-son and Merlin only knows what else he thinks me as, I'm an obscure plant fanatic." He shoved a hand through his hair, letting out a small breath. "Brilliant."</p><p>Riddle glanced at him from the corner of his eye, squinting in the sunlight. His gaze held amusement. "As far as first impressions go, there are worse things to be thought as."</p><p>Draco frowned pensively at a clump of rosemary, then shook his head. "Short of cold-blooded killer, I've got nothing."</p><p>Riddle chuckled, leaning on his forearms against the fence's topmost cross-beam. After a moment, Draco mirrored the pose beside him, trying not to focus on the memory of the empty look in his father's eyes.</p><p>A breeze rustled his hair, and he closed his eyes briefly, savoring the closest he'd come to being outdoors, free, in over two years. Riddle had been explaining the Chamber's design to him throughout the week, along with Muggle concepts like permaculture and agroforestry. Here, the vegetation was thin enough that, a few feet away, Draco could see the Chamber's stone wall stretching up until it disappeared into the faux-atmosphere. Some metres to his right, however, the wall vanished again beneath the jungle-like trees and dense vegetation cover of the Tribute beside theirs, around which dark, low-hanging clouds had begun to gather, obscuring the top of the structure.</p><p>Riddle had explained that several of the Tributes were literally cloaked in different atmospheric biomes with their own seasonal cycles to maximize the diversity of edible plant life available, from Tribute A's Mediterranean climate, to his own more familiar Temperate, to the tropical thunderstorm unfolding to his right.</p><p>The sheer complexity of magic and planning needed to actually build this level of <em>life</em> in what amounted to an underground bunker was mind-boggling and fascinating. Let alone that they — all of Hogwarts, really — had been living on top of it for decades, and no one had the slightest idea…</p><p>"Listen, Draco," Riddle said suddenly. Draco glanced over at him. The older man had turned to look at him, his expression more serious. "You must believe I don't enjoy watching your father suffer any more than you do. But until his memories are returned to him, an unstable seesaw between blissful ignorance and confusion and anger is all he will know. The Restituo Draught has caused a handful of cases like this throughout its history; the condition progresses like dementia, or Alzheimer's, until his own mind—" He stopped abruptly, as if he'd thought better of his words. "Well, until his mind will be able to take the strain of the repressed memories no longer. We need to do everything we can — everything — to help him remember. You understand that, don't you?"</p><p>Draco swallowed and nodded limply, clasping his hands tightly in front of him as he stared down at the thyme and rosemary bushes.</p><p>"I realize how difficult yesterday was for you, but it got us somewhere," Riddle continued in a calm, encouraging voice. "Seeing your mother and the love they felt for each other significantly jarred your father's psyche. This may be the key we've been looking for."</p><p>He was leading him gently to an idea, Draco realized, and from that approach alone, Draco got the feeling it was one Riddle thought he wouldn't like. "What do you want to do?" he asked uneasily.</p><p>Riddle let out a soft breath. "Draco, I need to see what happened on your side during the Final Suppression." He paused. "And so does he."</p><p>Draco froze. For a moment, he couldn't breathe; then he swung his head around to stare in incredulousness at the man beside him. "But — But my mother—"</p><p>Riddle nodded, the intensity of his dark gaze never wavering. "I know."</p><p>Draco twisted forward again and sucked in a breath, gripping his hands even more tightly in front of him. Riddle's logic was clear to him:</p><p>If watching his wedding to the woman he loved shook something inside Lucius, then watching her death would surely do the same.</p><p>After several seconds, he said dully, "Alright."</p><p>His own voice sounded hollow to his ears.</p><p>Without a word, Riddle pushed himself up off the fence and conjured a vial. It took Draco significantly longer to gather himself, bowing his head over his clenched hands. His palms began to sweat, heartbeat shallow as he willed his mind to its darkest corner to retrieve the memory he had for over two years tried so desperately to repress.</p><p>Feeling nauseous to the core, he straightened, turning toward the man who'd been the closest thing to a mentor and father figure Draco had had in the absence of his own father.</p><p>"Ready?" Riddle asked in a low voice, his gaze compassionate.</p><p>Draco steeled himself and nodded, though every emotion inside him screamed in protest. He forced himself to stand utterly still as the dark-haired man drew his wand and brought the tip to Draco's temple. The corners of his eyes began to burn; he squeezed them shut, compelling images of the most horrific day of his life to the forefront of his mind as Riddle said, <em>"Accio memoria."</em></p><p>It was all too long before the final wisp of the memory had been released. Once it was, Draco's shoulders slumped in relief; his left hand reached out, finding and gripping the fence. "That's that, then," he said tiredly.</p><p>Riddle placed a stopper in the phial now filed with the innocuous-looking silver liquid before he returned his attention to Draco. He gently placed an understanding hand on his arm.</p><p>"You're a very brave man, Draco," he said quietly. "I don't think you've been told that enough since that final day."</p><p>Despite the small bit of warmth the compliment generated inside his chest, Draco couldn't summon more than a weak nod in reply.</p><p>"I hope you know you're in no way expected to join us in the observation of this memory."</p><p>His words jarred Draco from the dark abyss into which his mind had momentarily descended. "No," he sad immediately. He cleared his throat, straightening. "No, I will." For a moment, Hermione's advice to him about his mother on the night they'd first stepped into the Chamber flashed through his mind, and he met Riddle's eyes. "For her."</p><p>"Then you must promise me you will not interfere. We will not leave that memory until it is finished, no matter what response its viewing may elicit. Do you agree?"</p><p>Draco nodded, though his stomach was in knots. "I do."</p><p>Riddle studied him for several seconds. Finally, he nodded, once. "Very well." He squeezed Draco's arm once reassuringly, then tilted his head toward the back of the Tribute. "Come on. Let's go back inside." As they began the short walk back, he added, "Though Herbologists might disagree, it's generally accepted that one can escape under the guise of discussing purple self-peeling sprouts for only so long."</p><p>Lucius was no longer in the Tribute's common area when they returned. Riddle suggested Draco locate him, while Riddle prepared the memory in the war room's pensieve.</p><p>Draco's gut clenched uncomfortably. "Sir, given what happened yesterday, perhaps… perhaps the less he saw of me, the better this all might go…"</p><p>Riddle glanced toward his stiffly standing form, then pocketed the phial and walked over to him. "Draco, your presence is in no way at fault for your father's adverse reactions to this situation. Not only has the draught muddled his mind, he's been kept in isolation for over a <em>decade.</em> You and I, we both know — that kind of treatment can do things to a man."</p><p>Draco clenched his jaw and nodded. Logically, it made sense; experientially, he knew it was true, but it certainly didn't make him feel any better while it was happening. "Right," he agreed, relieved his voice at least sounded less tense than he felt. "Of course."</p><p>Riddle gently clapped him on the back. "Now, go find him. Don't let yesterday discourage you. You've drawn him out more than I have on the days before that."</p><p>Draco already had a strong suspicion of where Lucius had gone. Indeed, as soon as he arrived at the library's partially-open door, he saw he was correct: his father was sitting in a plush leather chair with his back partially to the door, leaning over quite a large volume that seemed to have rather brightly coloured illustrations inside it. His worn prison garb of the week before had been replaced with an ordinary, dark robe with casual Muggle clothes beneath that must have once belonged to Riddle. Rather than falling down his shoulders, he had pulled his hair back from his face in a low ponytail, which thankfully reminded Draco less of —</p><p>Well, less of a man who was still not the father Narcissa had described.</p><p>His heart had begun pounding erratically, and he tried to force himself to calm down. Merlin's beard, this man didn't even care who Draco was or who he wasn't or what he did — Shouldn't that take the pressure off entirely?</p><p>After a moment, he swallowed his nervousness and stepped inside. "Erm — hello again," he said as cordially as he could.</p><p>His father's shoulders jerked slightly in surprise, before he swiftly turned toward the door. In his expression, Draco could see a curious mixture of visible relief mingled with suspicion when he saw who it was. "Hello," he echoed slowly, cautiously.</p><p>Draco shoved his free hand in his trousers pocket, hoping to appear as nonthreatening as possible, and unhurriedly walked over to where Lucius sat. "Reading anything interesting?" he asked lightly.</p><p>Lucius watched his approach with suspicious gray eyes. Then he looked down at the book, its pages spilled open on the small, round table at his side. "A bit of — of European wizarding history. Middle Ages to the Early modern period," he said in the soft-spoken voice with which Draco had become more acquainted over the past few days.</p><p>A tinge of hope sprung to Draco's chest, though he dared not express it.</p><p>His father had been a historian in the days preceding the war.</p><p>"I find the drawings… add a rather diverting quality to the lessons emphasized, don't you think?" the silver-haired man continued, turning the book slightly so Draco could better see it. Draco leaned over it slightly, studying the vividly animated illustrations that sprung from its pages. It was a children's picture book, he realized.</p><p>The familiarity of the drawings suddenly slammed into him.</p><p>"Oh! I know this!" he said in surprise. "This was one of my favourite books growing up! Mum used to read it to me all the time; she said you'd—"</p><p>He suddenly noticed Lucius had gone rigid.</p><p>Abruptly, Draco stopped speaking, panic shooting through his chest. Mentioning his mother and Lucius himself together when the idea of it upset Lucius as much as it did? What was he <em>thinking?</em></p><p>He quickly fell back upon one of the things he did best — changing the subject to something more amusing. "Erm… here." He reached out and flipped through the pages until he arrived at his favourite illustration in the entire book— from the story of what Muggles called the Lambdon worm, which was actually a hybridized magical creature that had escaped from a local wizarding village after a bad storm.</p><p>The images depicted the progression of a tiny, worm-like organism into a man-killing beast that terrorized the Northeast English countryside. Draco supposed the illustrations were meant to be menacing, but to six-year-old Draco they had instead been riotously hysterical. Narcissa had later told him she'd known exactly what to fetch on the rare occasions he was grumpy.</p><p>"See this?" he asked, gesturing at the drawings. "This <em>never </em>failed to make me laugh." Even now, he couldn't help but chuckle at how ridiculous the "monster" worm appeared, while villagers cowered before it and then ran in terror.</p><p>Lucius bent over the page, frowning. "Is that a basilisk murdering small children?"</p><p>Draco mentally groaned. <em>Merlin's ghost, now he's going to think I'm a sociopath who takes sadistic pleasure in seeing people viciously killed!</em></p><p>"No, no," he said quickly, gesturing at one of the drawings. <em>"</em>See the consistency of the red exoskeleton throughout? It's a Mongolian death worm crossed with a python."</p><p>"Ah, yes. A Mongolian death worm crossed with a python," his father repeated, as though that had been obvious all along.</p><p>"The point is that it's utterly ridiculous looking, not that it's killing things," Draco tried to explain. "When I was six, I couldn't believe anyone could be so afraid of something called 'the Worm' and looked like<em> that."</em></p><p>To his relief, Lucius began to chuckle as well. "I see. The idea of any kind of worm acting as a metaphor for widespread terror really is quite absurd."</p><p>Draco nodded avidly in agreement. <em>"Thank</em> you," he said, the statement dramatically exaggerated.</p><p>This, he thought as their laughter faded. This brief moment was perhaps the most genuinely natural exchange he'd shared with his father since they had first met.</p><p>A slight smile pulled at his face at the realization.</p><p>"About… yesterday," Lucius suddenly said slowly. "I'd… I'd quite like to apologize for my outburst. I've been under a great deal of stress, you see, with all these… changes. But what I said to you wasn't fair."</p><p>Draco's lips parted; the apology was so unexpected that, for a moment, he wasn't sure what to say. "Think nothing of it. Really," he managed finally. "I can only imagine how disconcerting all of this must be to you."</p><p>"Yes." Lucius sighed heavily. "Yes, it really is." For a moment, his eyes darted toward the door before he cautiously stood, focusing closely on Draco. "I've been… thinking about all this quite a bit since then, and I've realized… You and I — We're really quite similar, aren't we?"</p><p>Simultaneously, confusion and hope billowed in Draco's soul. "I… I think perhaps we may be," he said carefully.</p><p>"Oh!" Lucius seemed surprised. "You suspect it as well, then!"</p><p>The hope began to disintegrate into pure uncertainty. His brow furrowed. "Forgive me, I'm afraid I - I don't know what you mean."</p><p>Lucius again peered cagily around the empty library before he leaned toward his son and whispered conspiratorily, "That they've tried to deceive you like they have me. Don't you see? They're using us both!" Draco must not have been able to hide his stupefaction, because Lucius expounded, "You poor boy, they've convinced you that you're my son — Utter lies to further their own twisted games!"</p><p>Such bitter disappointment surged through him that he couldn't find the ability to speak or even respond.</p><p>His father had not begun to remember Draco or his mother or his life; no, he was no closer to remembering who he was than the conservatives were to freeing themselves from Sovereignty possession.</p><p>"You see it now, don't you?" Lucius said excitedly, misinterpreting his lack of response. "How they've tried to manipulate your mind?"</p><p>Draco's mouth opened and closed before some place inside him was somehow able to respond. "Perhaps they have," he said dully, his voice lifeless. <em>Manipulated it into thinking this could ever work, </em>he thought. His eyes began to burn; he blinked rapidly, turning away to hide his emotion from Lucius's sharp gaze upon his face. He cleared his throat. "Why don't… you and I go for a walk? It's a bit — stuffy in here."</p><p>His father considered this before nodding agreeably. "You're fascinated with sprouts, are you?" he asked as they headed out the door, lowering his voice to a whisper. "But are you really? Or is this another fabrication they've made you believe?"</p><p>Draco managed to make half-hearted conversation as he led his father up the stairs to the war room. It was in and of itself magnificent: Low walls transitioned to a wrap-around glass ceiling that soared up toward the blue 'sky' until the pyramidal design converged in a single point. Riddle was waiting inside at the annular conference table, pouring over a few texts, when they reached the door.</p><p>Lucius immediately took a step backward; Draco swiftly caught his thin arm before he could tumble backward down the stairs. "No! Not more of — of this egregiousness!" He turned to Draco, his gray eyes wild, desperate, but he remained still in his son's grasp and made absolutely no attempt to run away; Draco wondered sadly if he even realized that he could. "Don't you see? It's <em>trickery!</em> Trickery, I tell you! You must not let them exploit you as well!"</p><p>Draco stared back into his father's eyes, unable to hide his horror at his growing paranoia. Riddle's assured voice from inside the war room had never been such a reassuring sound.</p><p>"No more tricks, Lucius." He had left his place at the table and was approaching them slowly. "Just history. That's what memories are — history. You like history, don't you?"</p><p>"I like… history…" Lucius said slowly, as if something about the sentence seemed right and familiar to him, but he couldn't elucidate what.</p><p>"That's right," Riddle confirmed, his calm, even voice almost hypnotic. "And what we're going to look at now will show you the history of the war we've been discussing all week. This is the final piece of that narrative; it explains how the people who imprisoned you also conquered us. Why no one has been able to step in all this time they've lied to you and used you. Take this chance to understand your enemies, Lucius. Only through understanding their motivations can you truly defeat them."</p><p>His father appeared to be strongly considering this argument. Draco was relieved when he took a small step into the war room. "It isn't of myself?" he asked sharply.</p><p>Riddle shook his head, turning toward the pensieve set in a beautifully carved mahogany wood stand. "Not in the least."</p><p>"Or that woman?"</p><p>Draco froze. Riddle paused, his eyes briefly landing on the barely-concealed heartbreak on Draco's face, before he turned toward the complete stranger beside him. "Lucius, I assure you — the only thing you will find in this memory is the truth. I suggest you allow yourself to be open to it."</p><p>Lucius stepped up to pensieve, the academic he was at his core unable to resist the tempting invitation Riddle had extended. His suspicion had seemed to fade, though only slightly.</p><p>"It was a year and a half into the second uprising," Riddle continued. He uncorked the dark memory Draco knew all too well and poured it into the silver basin. "Bella and I had begun to realize that the two prophecies I've briefly mentioned previously might not be referring to what we had originally hoped. We needed to buy time — a great deal more time. Unfortunately, we were informed by a reliable source that Dumbledore had very nearly completed a nefarious device — capable of eradicating all those who stood against him. We had no choice. We decided to flee to Bulgaria until the time was right to return, along with all those who supported our cause and wanted to join us." He paused, studying Lucius's face. "You look like you have a question."</p><p>Lucius looked startled, before he inquired deferentially, "There were those who… who did <em>not</em> wish to join?"</p><p>Riddle sighed and shook his head. "For every two conservative witches and wizards who believed in defending their own equality and freedom from practising the Dark Arts, there was at least one who believed they should simply accept the hand that had been dealt them and make the best of it — that standing up and speaking out would only make the situation worse."</p><p>"Do you think they were right?" Draco asked suddenly. He had remained a few feet farther from the pensieve than Lucius and Riddle, tensely staring at the swirling tendrils of silver he had hoped to never see again.</p><p>Riddle went silent. "No," he said after a moment. "No, learning what I have from you and Pansy, I think Dumbledore was prepared to use that machine on every person who didn't share his beliefs whether they asserted their rights or not. And he has." He glanced toward Draco. "Why don't you explain the plan that brought us to that final day."</p><p>Draco nodded; he was honestly grateful for the distraction. "The Sovereign - erm — Dumbledore had placed an International Anti-Disapparition Jinx around Britain's borders, and our Floo Networks had been blocked or disconnected so we couldn't leave the country," he recounted to his father. "Unless we broke into an official station, which we wanted to avoid, the only option we had was to travel by illegal Portkey."</p><p>He shoved his fingers through his hair, letting out a frustrated breath as he recalled the painstaking preparations for that November afternoon. "We were so, <em>so</em> bloody careful. We designed the Portkeys to be person-specific, so they could only be used by the blood of the people they'd been made for, and they couldn't be followed. We didn't meet in a central location — instead, we had distributed the Portkeys beforehand, over a matter of weeks, and they would all activate only for a ten-minute window on a single, agreed-upon day. Tom had cast a Fidelius Charm that concealed the entire plan itself, so no one who knew it could speak of it to even any conservative who didn't intend on coming with us. Tom and Aunt Bella had gone ahead of us to erect Anti-Apparition Charms in the possibility Dumbledore caught wind of our plan and followed us. It seemed airtight. But something—" A flash and a shatter echoed through his memory, and he swallowed back bile, "—something went wrong."</p><p>Riddle's dark eyes met his, deeply troubled. "Everyone else arrived. But you and your mother didn't. She was our Secret Keeper," he explained to Lucius, "and we realized a minute before the ten-minute mark elapsed that you and she weren't there." He shook his head. "It was a minute too late."</p><p>Draco squeezed his eyes shut briefly against the chaos of those final minutes. He gestured toward the silver liquid. "I think—" His voice cracked; he cleared his throat, trying to ignore the dread choking him, streaming through his blood, and repeated, "I think it'll make the most sense if you… see it your yourself, sir."</p><p>For a moment, Riddle stared deep into his eyes, and then nodded. He placed one hand reassuringly on Draco's arm, the other on Lucius's, and together they plunged forward into the memory.</p><p>The unfamiliarly beautiful Mayfair home in the midst of Muggle London that haunted his dreams suddenly surrounded him in the flesh. They had chosen it for the bustling activity outside and the sheer unlikelihood the Sovereignty would suspect any Old-Bloods would hide in so wealthy a non-magical area. As part of the Fidelius-protected escape plan, the property should have been invisible to the outside world for as long as Narcissa kept the secret within her.</p><p>Draco remembered the house well — it was the first time in his life he'd ever stood amongst such blatant opulence. The difference was even more stark after weeks of living in shacks and tunnels, hiding from the Sovereignty forces attempting to round them up and return them to the conservative village from which they'd escaped.</p><p>The excessively pristine living room was decorated in neutral taupes and beiges, save the line of bright flowers growing along the expansive windowsills. Inside it, Narcissa, Anna Maria Zabini, Blaise and Draco stood tensely, counting down the few minutes until the Portkeys on the small table beside them would activate — a small, heart-shaped treasure box and a delicate, crystal wedding diadem, which had both been used in their respective families for centuries. Each mother stood close to her son. Narcissa had rested a loving hand on the younger Draco's back, rubbing it gently, while Anna Maria held Blaise's wrist tightly in her hand, her eyes locked on the window and the inclement, late-fall weather.</p><p>
  <em>"What is the time?" the beautiful cocoa-skinned woman asked tautly in a lyrically accented voice, reaching for the diadem.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Still thirty seconds," Narcissa replied evenly, her eyes on the thin watch around her wrist.</em>
</p><p>Draco fought to breathe as he watched her and his sixteen-year-old self exchange quick, apprehensive yet encouraging glances, and in a dizzying wave he felt as though he was no longer simply observing but was again standing where he once had, under her loving gaze for one of the last times.</p><p>
  <em>She looked back down at her watch. She wore the pale blue sweater that brought out the color of her eyes — Draco knew it had been a gift from his father many, many years ago. She had always called it her lucky sweater, donning it for interviews and other important moments, and for some strange reason it reassured him that she was wearing it then. "Twenty…"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"BLAISE!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narcissa and Draco started violently; the diadem fell from Anna Maria's hand and shattered, crystals spilling across the flood.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The nearly ear-splitting roar came again from the street outside, so powerful Draco could actually feel the vibration of the yell pass through him. "DAMN IT, BLAISE! ANNA MARIA, NARCISSA, I KNOW HE'S THERE WITH YOU!"</em>
</p><p><em>Anna Maria fell to her knees, mumbling Italian curses, at first trying to scoop up the broken diadem pieces before she simply summoned them to her. Meanwhile, Blaise, followed quickly by Draco, sprinted to the window. Past the rain-splattered glass, Draco could just make out the unmistakable form of Blaise's father and one of Anna Maria's many ex-husbands, Tomas</em> <em>Felixisson, pacing up and down the street.</em></p><p><em>"Bloody </em>fucking<em> Nora," Blaise swore. "It's actually him."</em></p><p>
  <em>"Cazzo, che figlio di puttana!" Anna Maria exploded vehemently, her hands shaking as she tried to fit the diadem pieces together to repair them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I thought Tom said Tomas didn't want to come with us!" Narcissa cried.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"He didn't; of course he did not, you know how he disagreed outright with everything Riddle said! Che l'uomo stolto!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Then Tom would have wiped his memory of it. How could he possibly even know anything about it?! How could he trace us here?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"BLAISE!" his father shouted again, his voice so loud he surely must have been using a Sonorus Charm with no regard to the Muggles giving wide berth as they walked around him. "BLAISE, I WAS WRONG! I SHOULD HAVE CHOSEN TO LEAVE— I SHOULD HAVE CHOSEN YOU!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco squinted at the man as he continued to dart about erratically, his eyes frantically searching the line of grand estates. He glanced in concern at Blaise, who was watching his father stiffly, his jaw clenched, and then noted, "I don't think he can actually see us. He obviously doesn't know the plan's specifics."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Well, just because he can't see us doesn't mean the world can't hear him!" Blaise suddenly exploded. "How bloody typical! 'Too late to change our minds? Certainly I must be an exception! Of course, I'll go right ahead and sign myself up now, in the most unsubtle, non-secretive way possible!' "</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"ANNA MARIA! BLAISE!" Tomas shouted. "NARCISSA, PLEASE! YOU'LL LET ME JOIN YOU, WON'T YOU?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"We can't; we have to leave," Narcissa breathed, a modicum of uneasiness entering her voice for the first time. She took a deep breath and crouched down beside her friend. "I can see why you divorced him," she said in a low voice, which caused Anna Maria to let out a strangled laugh. She placed her steady hand on Anna Maria's shaking ones. "Here. Let me help you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With a murmured spell, the diadem fused back together.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Will it still work?" Anna Maria whispered anxiously, staring at the presumably now-active Portkey as if it had turned into a poisonous species of Hungarian toad.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I would expect so, but only for you and Blaise. Blaise?" Narcissa turned and waved him over. "Blaise, it's time! Hurry!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Blaise and Draco both turned from the window simultaneously and exchanged an expression of matching apprehension and resolve. Then Blaise held out his hand. Draco clasped it, an easy smile tugging at his lips, and pulled his friend into a hug. "Best of luck, brother. See you on the other side."</em>
</p><p><em>Blaise clapped him on the back before they parted. </em>"<em>Beat you there."</em></p><p>
  <em>As he walked back to Anna Maria, the willowy woman nodded at Draco warmly and looked toward Narcissa. "A presto, cara mia," she said with a light kiss to her cheeks, then held out the diadem to Blaise. As soon as he grasped it, they vanished from sight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"A presto, my friend," Narcissa murmured to the air. Then her shoulders slumped slightly in relief, and she turned toward Draco and smiled, gratitude palpable in her eyes. "Alright, darling. It's our—"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"ACCIO NARCISSA MALFOY!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"ACCIO MAYFAIR WANDS!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With a scream and a shatter, Draco's mother and his wand were sucked past him and through the glass window at which Draco and Blaise had been standing only moments before. The window shattered, glass raining down on the polished wooden floor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instinctively, Draco dove to the ground to the window's right, out of sight from anyone on the street; in his shock, it never occurred to him that with the Fidelius Charm in place, they wouldn't actually be able to see the house, or inside it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From outside came Narcissa's horrified scream. "NO!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco's brain stopped working; his entire body started to shake.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He knew whose voices had summoned his mother. It hadn't been Blaise Zabini's father.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And without even his wand, he knew he couldn't fight them and win.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>An amused, throaty purr floated inside the shattered window.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Come out, come out, Little Malfoy. Time to play."</em>
</p><p><em>His mother's voice came again in a muffled shriek, "Draco, </em> <strong> <em>n—!"</em> </strong></p><p>
  <em>But she stopped speaking abruptly, as if she'd been silenced.</em>
</p><p>No, no, no, no, no…</p><p><em>Draco squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around his knees. His nails dug into his palms so hard they began to draw blood. The plan had been perfect; foolproof. There was no way they could have known, could have found them. How </em> <strong> <em>could</em> </strong> <em> they have known?</em></p><p>
  <em>His pulse throbbed at his temples so powerfully he could barely think, his hair and clothing soaked with sweat. His eyes darted to the Portkey on the table. It was blood-activated, and required the touch of both he and Narcissa to work. He couldn't use it, not without her. And he couldn't get her back, not when both she and his own wand had been summoned away.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But if Lily Evans' voice made his blood run cold, the next voice he heard shot terror through his soul.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid one warning is all you will get. Your mother is currently alive; if you would like to see her that way, come out immediately."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco stared up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. Then he decided.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He steeled himself, choking in several rapid, shallow gulps of air, and jerkily pulled himself to his feet. The rush of blood from his head was almost too much; he nearly blacked out and bent double to stop himself before he could. Swiftly, he stumbled to the beautifully carved maple, heart-shaped box. He held it up with a violently trembling hand and raised his other hand over it, closing his eyes. Desperately, he tried to cut through the suffocating panic to centre the magic inside him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Incendio," he breathed.</em>
</p><p><em>Flames shot from the Portkey, and he dropped it to the floor. </em> <em>As the heirloom burned down to ash</em> <em>, he stepped over it and to the front door</em> <em>. The seconds it took him to reach it felt like an hour. Every nerve in his body was firing abnormally; every other heartbeat skipped; he tried to reach for the doorknob and found the muscles of his hand would not obey.</em></p><p>
  <em>Finally, he managed to jerkily work his stiff fingers around the knob.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He turned it, and pulled open the door.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The entire armed forces of the Phoenix stood packed in the street before him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of the mass of faces, Draco only saw one: His mother, her head pulled back by her hair by the leather-gloved hand of Lily Evans. Her eyes were wide, the tip of the First Viceroy's wand held to her neck. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The small flicker of hope in his chest that there somehow, some way might be a path out of this all but died. A shocked, apathetic numbness took its place.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Though his entire mind and body protested vehemently, Draco forced himself to step down to the street. Beside the still, silent Phoenix forces, it had suddenly become eerily empty, devoid even of Tomas Felixisson, even though it was mid-afternoon in a busy Muggle London district, and cars and people had been zipping past not five minutes before.</em>
</p><p><em>Cold rain began to strike him, though he hardly felt it. Instead, </em> <em>every breath cut into him like a knife; every step away from the Fidelius-protected building felt like he was walking barefoot on nails. As ropes magically bound his hands behind him and Arthur Weasley yanked him forward, Draco was only aware of his mother's pale blue eyes, tears tracing from them as they bore into his with a mixture of love and anguish that seemed like something out of a horrific nightmare, rather than reality. Silently, she mouthed urgently, 'Draco, I love y—'</em></p><p>
  <em>A flash of green cut her unspoken message short.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A hoarse cry ripped from his throat as Lily Evans threw Narcissa to the icy, wet pavement and lifted a mobile to her blood-red lips, her eyes locked on the property from which Draco had emerged. After a moment, it must have become visible to her, because she reported, "SK has been terminated. Stand by."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco stared, stunned, at his mother's limp body and blank eyes, her damp, greying blond hair splayed out around her head like a faded halo. Then, before he realized what he was even doing, he was suddenly screaming at the most powerful Dark Lord that Britain had ever seen. "You -- You said you wouldn't kill her!" </em>
</p><p><em>The Sovereign smiled forbearingly, as if indulging a small child. </em> <em>"I said no such thing. I merely said you would be able to see her alive if you came outside immediately. And so you did." His piercing blue gaze shifted away from Draco dismissively. "Had you waited any longer, she would have already been dead."</em></p><p><em>"MOTHER!" </em> <em>Draco tried to run toward her, but he was roughly jerked backward and to his knees. Before he could process what was happening, Arthur Weasley had forced open his mouth and poured a tasteless liquid down his throat. </em></p><p>
  <em>"Where's the Portkey?" the Second Viceroy demanded.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco found the answer spilling forth before he even registered swallowing; his eyes widened in horror as he realized the liquid's identity. "I—destroyed it," he choked out hoarsely.</em>
</p><p><em>"You worthless boy!" </em> <em>Weasley backhanded him violently, then hauled him up again by his soaked hair. "Where are you and your other filthy Fusty insurrectionists headed, eh?"</em></p><p><em>His face stinging, Draco struggled with all his might to resist responding. With an irritated growl, Weasley twisted his hair painfully and </em> <em>Draco cried out in surprise, but try desperately as he did, af</em> <em>ter a few seconds, the Veritaserum still ripped the truth from his lips. </em></p><p>
  <em>"I — don't know," he rasped brokenly, tears streaming down his face. "Bulgaria — somewhere."</em>
</p><p><em>"And is that </em> <strong> <em>rat</em> </strong> <em> Riddle going to be there with them?"</em></p><p><em>Silently, he screamed, </em>No, no, no, no…</p><p><em>"I — I —He's — He — N… </em>Yes,"<em> he croaked involuntarily, and immediately filled with shame at the admittance, however unwilling.</em></p><p>
  <em>At that moment, Lily Evans' mobile dinged. She looked down at it, then smiled slowly. "The destroyed Portkey is of no matter. I have their exact position. The lot of them are still there presently, though they're becoming restless; apparently the window of travel is set to expire shortly."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco looked between her and the mobile in numb horror. The Sovereign noticed his expression and turned toward him with a pleasant smile. "It appears you are not as loyalty-inspiring as you think, Mr. Malfoy. It was not our intelligence, but one of your own who so readily shared the information for your capture."</em>
</p><p><em>Draco couldn't believe that; refused to believe that. There was only one way they could have been captured, and no one — </em> <strong> <em>no one</em> </strong> <em> could possibly have wanted to see his mother — his mother…</em></p><p>
  <em>Her limp body and the scene before him blurred with tears and falling rain. "You're lying," he croaked.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"For the sake of your conscience, I wish I were." Dumbledore's attention shifted to Lily, whose phone had been pinging continuously.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It appears they've used an Anti-Apparition Jinx on the entire area," she said. "We'll need to Portkey in."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Very well. The location, if you please." Dumbledore glanced at her raised mobile screen, looked around him, and then lifted his wand. "Portus multiplicatus!" he thundered.</em>
</p><p><em>After a moment, over two dozen individual blossoms from the windowsill flowers now exposed behind the broken window levitated from the house, floating over the heads of the mass of Order members. "These items are Portkeys; they will lead us to those we seek," he announced, elevating his voice. "Grasp them in groups. As you may have heard, an Anti-Apparition Jinx has been placed on the area; as I will be raising an Anti-</em> <strong> <em>Dis</em> </strong> <em>apparition Jinx to pen them in, I highly suggest you do not attempt to do either during the task you have been given." He looked toward Lily Evans. "You know what to do."</em></p><p>
  <em>She nodded once, sharply, and reached up and grasped the daffodil hovering before her, while those around her did the same.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In the blink of an eye, she, Dumbledore and the 250 members of the Order of the Phoenix disappeared.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As soon as they'd gone, Weasley yanked Draco up and Apparated with him back into the Mayfair home. In the pensieve, the scene swirled to reflect the new surroundings. The Viceroy threw him to the floor; with his hands bound, Draco was unable to stop his fall, and sharp pain exploded through his side. He had hardly heaved in a gasp before he was body bound.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Wait here like a good little scumboy," Weasley said derisively. "Once we've destroyed your traitorous kind, I'll be back for you."</em>
</p><p>No, no, no, no…</p><p><em>Cold terror exploded through Draco's body, but he couldn't speak or scream. He could do nothing -- nothing but struggle for shallow breath in his figuratively and literally frozen body, soaked through and through from the icy rain, and silently beg and plead to any god or goddess that might hear him that Pansy, Blaise, his friends, that </em> <strong> <em>innocent people</em> </strong> <em> be spared the unspeakable horror he was currently experiencing.</em></p><p>
  <em>Weasley turned and repaired the shattered window, then headed for the front door. His footsteps halted suddenly. "Oh." With a muttered spell, Narcissa's body materialized on the ground a few feet from Draco, a trail of blood running down her temple, her open, lifeless eyes boring straight into Draco's motionless ones. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A shocked gasp turned into a choking cough from his paralyzed lips, and Draco suddenly couldn't find the air to breathe at all as the Viceroy said, "I do hope you enjoy the company." He sounded utterly pleased with himself. "I've heard a rumor a great many Fusties have begun to sleep like the dead."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The door shut, and with a crack, he Disapparated.</em>
</p><p>Draco didn't remember sinking to his knees beside his bound sixteen-year-old self, but at some point he had, a single tear clinging to each of his cheeks as he stared at his mother's body. He was utterly numb to anything and anyone else around him lest he descend into the anguish and despair and devastation that he could still feel deep in his bones, as though the events of Mayfair House had only happened yesterday.</p><p>His gaze shifted to his younger self. His heart broke even more, if that was possible, as he watched tears bubble up from the boy's unblinking eyes and tumble down his cheeks to the wooden floor.</p><p>Grief surged through his chest, for his mother, yes, but also for... for the orphaned child he had become. He wished with all his heart he could tell that stunned, terrified boy that he wasn't alone, that all wasn't lost, that he would survive and so would more of the people he loved, that he would be given a second chance at life, no matter how uncertain it was, that he would witness the impossible -- that all he had to do was hold on, be strong, never give up hope.</p><p>He wished he could tell him… but he knew he couldn't.</p><p>Even so, he reached a faintly trembling hand toward his younger self, but it simply passed through thin air. Slowly clenching his fingers, he pulled his fist back into his chest, hunched over himself and began to cry.</p><p>He didn't know how long he knelt there, beside himself and the body of his mother, until he felt a hand touch his shoulder.</p><p>Draco started, then reached up and with a single hand wiped his eyes. For a moment, he took a shuddery breath, briefly resting his head on his hand, before he raised his head and looked up at Riddle.</p><p>He stilled.</p><p>The gentle hand on his shoulder wasn't Riddle's. It was Lucius Malfoy's.</p><p>Draco tensed.</p><p><em>Please not now, </em>he silently begged, his exhausted, grief-stricken mind unable to process the thought of facing any more of Lucius's unintentional neglect after the memory they'd all just witnessed.</p><p>Slowly, the tall man crouched down alongside him, his equally gray eyes locked on Draco's face, racing across his every feature.</p><p>Then, he breathed, <em>"Draco."</em></p><p>Shock and fear coursed through him. His lips parted, and he again found himself unable to breathe. Tentatively, so painfully slowly, disbelieving hope unfurled itself inside his chest. "F…Father?" he whispered.</p><p>Lucius reached out a trembling, spidery hand toward Draco's face, his thin fingers hovering millimetres above the skin as they traced from his forehead to his chin. "My son," he choked.</p><p>Draco's lips trembled unsteadily, afraid to allow himself to believe what his eyes were seeing for fear of yet another heartbreaking disappointment. Still, he couldn't stop the young, fatherless boy still well and alive inside him from repeating desperately, <em>"Father…"</em></p><p>Instantly, Lucius pulled him forward into a tight hug. "Oh, Draco," he croaked out thickly.</p><p>Draco desperately tried to hold back the indescribable flood of emotion that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to speak but his throat was choked, and he clenched his jaw to keep from sobbing. All he could do was clutch his father tightly as the elder man rocked him back and forth and whispered over and over into Draco's hair, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"</p><p>And together, they grieved for the woman they had both deeply loved and the fourteen years as a family they had lost.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oy vey, I know that was a heavy chapter in terms of info and topics and backstory, but it was basically the bridge between the first half of the story and the second, and it was something Draco and Lucius had to get through. Onward to hopefully much better memories for them and less trials...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Ms. Granger, Draw Your Wand: Part I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another two-for-one weekend! We're back with Hermione's POV now.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The seventy-five carefully hand-picked Haunt invitees had been told to arrive at the Gryffindor portrait hole at exactly 21:00 on Halloween night, and had been herded into a stark Common Room cleared of practically all furniture.</p><p>Meanwhile, Hermione lingered in the shadows beneath the stairway to the first and second years' dorms, where she could overhear snippets of confusion at the lack of decorations or revelry.</p><p>For once in her life as My, she was actually comfortable in her attire: a stunningly beautiful replica of Rowena Ravenclaw's highly functional duelling garb. Thin, carefully etched brown vines climbed the front of the fitted, deep blue leather cuirass atop a tunic of the same color, blossoming into an eagle on her back. Lightweight, intricately carved bronze-leather spaulders and bracers designed for maximum flexibility and defence clasped her wrists and shoulders; butter-soft, Ravenclaw-brown breeches clung to her legs, with thin greaves and leather boots stretching to her knees; and a regal, ruby-and-gold scabbard and startlingly accurate replica of the Sword of Gryffindor cinched tightly around her waist.</p><p>Hermione had managed to attend the Haunt as her wizarding idol, Sárnait of Hogwarts… which was a small comfort in the midst of the literal and figurative darkness she knew she would experience that evening.</p><p>She had first read Sárnait's story when she was eleven, before she had even come to Hogwarts. As a Muggle-born, she'd been sent her Hogwarts invitation, a somewhat hilariously simplistic introductory booklet on the wizarding world, and a copy of <em>Hogwarts, A History</em>.</p><p>Hermione had come across the story early in the book, and she'd quickly committed the legendary scholar and warrior's tale to memory afterward.</p><p>Sárnait Caomhánach was also a Muggle-born witch who became a Gryffindor student in the days immediately after the four Founders' deaths. During Hogwarts' infancy, the castle was the target of many attacks, and a Dark Lord from Eastern Europe soon arrived, desiring possession of the magnificent castle and the magical items rumored to be kept within it. Posing as a diplomat, he was able to gain access to the castle grounds, where he and his forces quickly overpowered and killed the small number of faculty in a powerful, surprise assault... with the students left in the castle to fend for themselves.</p><p>In an effort to calm and inspire her panicking classmates, Sárnait, at that time the Head Girl, donned the Sorting Hat and Rowena Ravenclaw's duelling garb, which had been kept in another of the school's fledgling archival rooms. With the Sword of Gryffindor in one hand and her wand in the other, she had rallied the students to fight back for their lives and for the castle they called home.</p><p>In the midst of battle, the Dark Lord separated Sárnait from both her wand and the Sword, holding her captive against him to discourage her Hogwarts compatriots. Legend had it that Sárnait then ripped the Sorting Hat from her head and again pulled from it the Sword of Gryffindor, stabbing the blade through her own shoulder to pierce the Dark Lord's heart and end the conflict once and for all. With the Dark Lord defeated and the power of a hundred students, the numbers were suddenly tipped in their favour, and the students cleverly used their knowledge of the castle and grounds to push the remaining invaders back.</p><p>As Hogwarts rebuilt, Sárnait went on to become a teacher there, and the first Headmistress the school had seen.</p><p>Hermione had been been utterly starstruck when she'd had the opportunity to speak with Sárnait's portrait in the Headmaster's office in third year, and she'd often thought back to her story for encouragement during the darkest days of the war with Voldemort.</p><p>Sárnait Caomhánach was as much a legend in this universe as she had been in Universe A, Hermione had discovered — perhaps even moreso, given the prestige of Muggle-borns here. But this Sárnait had been a practitioner of dark magic, which she had used in a typically-reversed situation to defeat a coalition of unapologetically light wizards who sought to take and reform the castle.</p><p>Still, Hermione knew the real Sárnait she was honouring that night, even as she, as Sárnait's Universe B counterpart, dramatically kicked off the worst scene of utter debauchery she'd ever witnessed.</p><p>The theme of this year's Haunt had been "Party or Die," and Hermione had been forced to participate in / practice the socially required welcome skit many, many times — always making deliberate errors — so it would appear to the other seven members of the Haunt planning committee that she was indeed "rubbish at remembering."</p><p>For it to convincingly be a costume My might actually choose to wear, Hermione'd had to necessarily make sure it was all just tight enough, and pay enough consideration to her makeup and her now-mahogany brown curls (dyed to the exact shade in Sárnait's portrait), carefully pulled back in a messy but stylish loose bun. But given that (a) she would be channeling an iconic Muggle-born and (b) it would give the boys on the planning committee the opportunity to design fake explosions, it had all been heartily accepted.</p><p>At exactly 21:04, said fake explosions began to discharge loudly around the common room and 'outside' the window, drawing startled shouts and shrieks.</p><p>Through the smoke, Seamus Finnegan rushed through the portrait hole dressed in Founders-period garb, his face smudged and panicked.</p><p>"The castle's defences have fallen! Our professors are overcome!" he bellowed dramatically. "Our attackers have breached the walls!"</p><p>Immediately, Parvati Patil and other members of the planning committee (very skillfully) began to cry and shriek, "Noooo! We must give ourselves up!"</p><p>"We cannot possibly defeat such forces!"</p><p>"Merlin help us; we'll surely be killed!"</p><p>As more attendees drew their wands, releasing disconcerted exclamations that seemed unclear as to whether or not whatever was happening was a real threat, Hermione took a small breath, summoning the utter confidence she knew My would have undoubtedly embodied at a moment like this, and pushed forward from the back of the crowd.</p><p>"Silence, all of you!" she exclaimed. With a subtle Levitating spell from Dean Thomas, she easily leapt onto the still-empty drinks table and drew both her wand and the sword, which she had charmed to be extremely lightweight. "Students of Hogwarts, we must not lose hope!"</p><p>Relieved smiles and chuckles burst from several worried-looking students who must have suddenly realized what was going on.</p><p>"Yes, something <em>sinful</em> approaches," Hermione continued in a throaty purr, trying to ignore Ginevra's eyes shooting daggers at her and every boy making eyes at her. "But we are many in number. We are strong and resourceful, with a stamina unmatched by any in the Sovereignty. We cannot abandon this fight!"</p><p>"Preach it, Sárnait!" someone yelled, which gave Hermione hope that to the average, carefree teenage wizard in Universe B, she didn't appear completely absurd.</p><p>She began to pace across the table. "Nine cases of butterbeer… Fifteen bottles of firewhiskey… Forty kilos of the most ravishing food in all the land… endless hours of the wickedest dance music these walls have heard… Oh yes. We face a dangerous battle indeed. Only the bravest of witches and wizards will survive this night." More smoke and mist had begun to stream around her as she looked out into the crowd, her voice grave. "We have only one choice: party hard… or die."</p><p>A rumble of agreement and hoots of approval echoed around the packed room.</p><p>She raised her sword, meeting the eyes of the fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth years in attendance as she swept the blade around the room. "This could be, I fear, the challenge of a lifetime. But it is a challenge upon which our very lives depend. Do you accept? Will you join with me tonight?"</p><p>"Yes!" they all roared.</p><p>Hermione thrust the sword into the air. "To whom do we dedicate these noble festivities?"</p><p>"To Hogwarts!" the planning committee bellowed.</p><p>She lowered her sword at them and shouted more loudly, "To whom do we dedicate these noble festivities?"</p><p>She could have sworn the very walls of the Gryffindor common room shook as all 75 students present thundered, <em>"TO HOGWARTS!" </em></p><p>With a final faux explosion, the room expanded and transfigured into what resembled more a haunted forest than a dance hall. Apparently the decorations themselves were one of the things for which the Haunt was so well known, and something for which those who'd secured a coveted spot on the planning committee seemed to have been preparing for years. Between the mist and smoke, ravens and bats perched upon shadowy silhouettes of barren trees. Realistic, massive spiderwebs hung from tree branches and the ceiling, which was largely obscured in the blackened room. Light came only from candles that floated or dangled eerily throughout the forest and on long tables that had suddenly appeared, laden heavy with food and drink, bloody goblets, chains, pumpkins, squash, spiders and skulls. The swirling mist led to a central dance floor from which loud music immediately began to pound. Two bright strobe lights floated, rotating, high in the dark, revealing hovering ghosts, skeletons and 'Dementors,' — which frankly Hermione couldn't possibly imagine feeling comfortable dancing near.</p><p>She lowered her sword, still gripping it tightly, as a handful of students rushed forward to claim extremely plush private lounge areas in the periphery of the 'woods;' Hermione didn't doubt the area would be full of smoke from a variety of illegally-obtained drugs within fifteen minutes.</p><p>Her heart was racing. In spite of the disapproval she felt for her surroundings, she was surprised to find she also felt strangely… exhilarated. Had her Harry experienced a similar rush when rousing Dumbledore's Army to fight near the end of the war?</p><p>Doubtful, she thought logically. He, like she and everyone else, had probably been largely concerned about how he'd survive the next few hours.</p><p>Still, the legitimate enthusiasm she'd felt partially channeling the famous speech of her Hogwarts idol must have been obvious, because some time later, Harry's Universe B counterpart wandered by her in the pulsing music and strobe lights, bumping into her hard from behind as she'd gotten a new goblet of pumpkin juice from a refreshment table.</p><p>"I see your infamy's going to your head, Granger," he snarked in her ear.</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, bugger off." She began to head back to the handful of worshipful girls she'd surrounded herself with in one of the lounges, where she'd been making inane conversation to insulate herself from unwanted advances by any men there, Ronáld in particular even though he was currently still 'with' Lavender. There wasn't a single person here she wanted to dance with/be groped by, and she planned to ensure she didn't even get near the dance floor that night.</p><p>But on second thought, she spun back toward him. "Harry—"</p><p>He had disappeared into the crowd.</p><p>She ducked between a 'headless' horseman and a nearly naked mermaid and after a moment found him again. She grabbed his arm and pulled him down slightly so she could speak in his ear. "Ginevra tried to slip something in my drink earlier. Be careful. She may be out for blood from either of us tonight."</p><p>Harry grimaced. "Damn that lunatic witch!" He lowered his face close to hers to keep their conversation as private as possible in the noisy hall. "I explicitly told that incompetent Corner to make sure he—"</p><p>"First my House-Wizard, now my boyfriend… why is it that I'm <em>not</em> surprised?"</p><p>Hermione froze, for a split second staring wide-eyed into Harry's narrowing eyes, before she straightened her shoulders. In the darkness, she shoved the tiny bag of Wizarding Wheezes into Harry's hands, hoping desperately he would understand, before she spun unconcernedly to face Ginevra. A handful of the redhead's seventh-year sidekicks were standing around her.</p><p>"I'm sorry. Were you addressing me?" Hermione asked sweetly. "If yes, I believe a 'Thank you, Lady Evans, for assuming my responsibilities in the planning of this fabulous party' is in order."</p><p>From the corner of her eye she saw Harry shoot her a sidelong glance and vanish back into the crowd that had suddenly begun to grow around them.</p><p>
  <em>Just delay her, just delay her…</em>
</p><p>Ginevra scoffed loudly, her eyeliner-traced brown eyes spitting fire. "What's next, My, eh?" she drawled, her aggrandized enunciation a clear indication she was already drunk. "The knickers off my body? The heart from my chest?"</p><p>Hermione let out a snort that wasn't even feigned as she got a better look at the skintight black leather leotard — with no tights — that Ginevra was wearing. It stretched up into formfitting hood with cat ears.</p><p>"Knickers?" she echoed contemptuously. "It's quite clear from that—" she wrinkled her nose and waved her hand dismissively, <em>"thing</em> you're wearing that you don't have any to begin with, and as for your heart, well…" She gave Ginevra a knowing smirk. "Unlike you, I don't fantasize about things that don't exist."</p><p>Laughter sprinkled through the crowd of onlookers. When Ginevra scowled angrily, Hermione knew she'd caught the allusion to the redhead's nonexistent relationship with Harry as much as the life-giving organ.</p><p>"Oh, don't you think you're the <em>dog's bollocks!</em> Parading about as one of Hogwarts' <em>greatest</em> dark magic practitioners!" the youngest Weasley proclaimed scornfully. "If you're such a <em>powwwe</em>rful warrior—" she suddenly whipped out her wand and fired a jet of green light at the ground; the crowd gasped, and a spider scuttling along the floor dropped dead at her feet, "…then let's see you fight like one."</p><p>Even though a spider wasn't the most charismatic of creatures, anger surged through Hermione at the mindless killing. Oh, how she <em>itched</em> to see how the cruel woman could handle facing someone who could actually match her hex for jinx, but on top of the fact that My wouldn't have been able to win, she knew a violent confrontation was exactly want Ginevra wanted.</p><p>Instead she forced herself to only arch an eyebrow. "Really, Ginevra, just because you're jealous and insecure and <em>out of your mind</em> sloshed doesn't mean you always need to cause a scene," she said snottily. "And you wonder why you aren't invited to more parties."</p><p>And then, despite the utter stupidity the battle-hardened witch inside her screamed that it was, Hermione forced herself to nonchalantly turn her back on the redheaded witch in a ever-so-casual attempt to dismissively walk away from the fight.</p><p>Unfortunately, the circle that had formed around them was blocking her path, with Ville Longbottom, dressed like a pirate, directly at her back. He leered at her predatorily. "What's wrong, Evans?" he asked, alcohol on his breath and a slight slur to his voice. "Cat got ya' tongue?" He chuckled at his own ingenuity.</p><p>Hermione smiled saucily, taking hold of his sash-like belt and pulling him toward her, if only to get him to either move out of the way or off with her 'somewhere more private,' where she could confound him and escape.</p><p>"That feral cat couldn't keep hold of anyone's tongue without shredding it," she purred coquettishly. She flicked her gaze up to his own, blinking at him from beneath her lashes. "Me, on the other hand... could give yours the kind of massage it would <em>never</em> forget..."</p><p>Ville's eyes lit up like Guy Fawkes' Night.</p><p>"Ah! So it <em>is</em> all a pretense then!" Ginevra said shrilly behind her before they could get far. "Pretending to be such a - a <em>noble leader</em> when you're s-selfish to the core. Hoarding away your... your <em>worthless</em> House-Wizard instead of sharing him with the rest of us!"</p><p>Hermione momentarily stopped breathing.</p><p>Images of Draco's warm eyes and courageous smile and then his horrifically scar-covered body flashed through her mind.</p><p>Her fingers twitched toward her wand.</p><p>"My brother'n I were generous," Ginevra continued on theatrically. "Our family let <em>everyone</em> make use of Hogwarts' favorite fusty. That conservative skrewt was the <em>reason</em> last year's Haunt was so bloody entertaining. And now you've - what? Gone'n got <em>two</em> of your own, and you're still unwilling to share the spoils?"</p><p>For the first time that night, this drew a rumble of agreement from the crowd against Hermione.</p><p>She didn't care.</p><p>
  <em>You vile, evil demon! </em>
</p><p>In a rush, her blood began to boil, her pulse throbbing in her temple. Through a wave of hatred the strength of which she didn't think she possessed, Hermione clenched her hand into a first to keep from drawing her wand or her sword or both.</p><p>Somewhat desperately, her mind repeated, <em>Just delay her, just delay her…</em></p><p>
  <em>Harry, where the bloody hell are you!?</em>
</p><p>She spun. "Hmm, that's funny, I don't seem to recall the rest of Hogwarts in that bed with your brother and me when he lost that bet," she spat. "Then again, you <em>have</em> seemed to develop an unhealthy obsession with me lately; I wouldn't be surprised if you'd been skulking about watching."</p><p>Ginevra smiled. "Ooo. Struck a chord, there, did I?" She again raised her wand. "Does this mean you'll have the <em>nerve</em> to draw your wand?"</p><p>Someone in the by-now large crowd around them began to chant, <em>"Fight, fight, fight!"</em> Suddenly sixty voices were echoing the shout until it reverberated off the walls, drowning out even the blaring techno.</p><p>Good Godric. When had 'delay' turned to 'duel'?!</p><p>Hermione realized she was holding her wand; she hadn't even realized she'd drawn it. Her racing heart leapt to her throat as she gripped it indecisively, her facade an annoyed pout. <em>Could</em> she really duel Ginevra here, in front of everyone? Yes, the witch might be intoxicated, which would certainly play to Hermione's advantage, but she hadn't duelled anyone in over two months, and she'd certainly never practiced half-arsed duelling, either. Yet now she'd somehow have to smother her instinctive survival responses to pretend to have zero ability... all while making her disarmament of Ginevra look accidental?</p><p>"FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT…"</p><p>Suddenly, Harry burst through the edge of the crowd a few paces to Ginevra's left. He met Hermione's eyes and nodded once, ever-so-slightly.</p><p>She pursed her lips to keep them from parting in shock.</p><p>From the intensity with which his eyes were boring into hers, the nod could have only meant one thing.</p><p>Her mind began to race, frantically outlining various scenarios by which she could eliminate Ginevra swiftly without looking particularly skilled herself; most of them involved dodging behind various large objects like trees and people while causing other large items to fall on or trip the youngest Weasley.</p><p><em>You'd better </em> <em>bloody well know what you're doing, Harry. </em></p><p>"Oh,<em> fine,"</em> Hermione sighed loudly, holding up her wand with a flourish. "If we must."</p><p>The crowd cheered.</p><p>A wicked grin burst across Ginevra's lips. Her eyes flicked over My's garb. "Better hope that costume's authentic, <em>Sárnait</em> of Hogwarts." Scoffing contemptuously, she raised her wand; Hermione steeled herself, preparing to dive to her right. "You're going to need all the help you can get."</p><p>Before Hermione could blink, Ginevra had lunged. <em>"INFLATUS!"</em></p><p>With an unceremonious QUACK, a large rubber duck burst from the end of her wand.</p><p>Hermione's instant surge of relief escaped her lips in a disbelieving laugh.</p><p>Ginevra looked down furiously at the dangling yellow duck and vehemently began to shake her wand as if she was trying to fling it off, the movements exaggerated in her drunkenness. When the motion only resulted in increasingly louder 'quacks,' she shouted, <em>"Reducto!" </em></p><p>The wand squeaked, and the duck immediately transformed into a slimy, still-wiggling trout.</p><p>Harry had switched Ginevra's wand with a trick one.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, thank you Merlin.</em>
</p><p>As the entire room burst into guffaws, Hermione quickly reassembled her reactions into those of My.</p><p>"Oh. Oh, dear," she said in concern, trying to stifle her laughter to feign worry. "Having trouble performing? I do hear these things tend to come with age. Then again, I wouldn't know." She smirked. "I'm still a powerful warrior."</p><p>Ginevra howled with rage, shoving the wand and the dangling fish at Hermione's face.<em> "CRUCIO!"</em></p><p>Immediately, the wand yanked itself from Ginevra's hand, floated into the air, and began beating her over the head, slimed fish and all.</p><p>By now, every onlooker had collapsed into uproarious laughter as Ginevra tried to dodge the attacking stick, some of her seventh year classmates desperately trying to help catch it and wrench it away. Hermione took advantage of the chaos to shove her way through the crowd, trying to appear as though she was simply swaggering from a fight well won.</p><p>She passed Hufflepuff Rolf Scamander, who was bent double, tears in his eyes. "I don't know how you did it, Evans, but that was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"</p><p>"Oh, it had absolutely nothing to do with me," she replied sweetly, smiling prettily; the last thing she wanted to do was have the wand scrutinized. She raised her voice. "In fact, I hope you all know full credit goes to my friend Ginevra's ever-so-skillful wand-handling ability… or lack thereof."</p><p>Poke fun as she may have continued to do as My, her fleeting, amused relief was quickly turning to concern. If Ginevra's hostility had been bad before, she couldn't even began to fathom what this encounter would do to it.</p><p>As she reached the edge of the crowd, she felt something materialize in her palm; she glanced around casually before she raised her hand slightly. On a piece of paper, Harry's elegant script had etched, <strong><em>Leave now. I'll switch them back before she investigates.</em></strong></p><p>Hermione incinerated the note as soon as she'd read it.</p><p>He didn't need to tell her twice.</p><p>An unearthly screech of anger followed her departure.</p><p>
  <em>Oh sweet Morgana. She's going to try to kill me.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione beelined directly from the Haunt to the library and the windowless, rotund Archives room housed within the turret at its northwest corner.</p><p>She'd snuck away to this very place during every free moment she'd had that week.</p><p>After she'd been thoroughly unsettled by her woefully inadequate knowledge of Tom Riddle, his motivations, and his sudden, pervasive presence, she'd immediately set about better informing herself of the few key participants in the war, a few of whom had been expunged from al Hogwarts history books. Unfortunately, this made her search for information more difficult, until she'd had the inspiration to check nontraditional sources, like newspapers, in the case they had been overlooked.</p><p>She'd been pleased to discover: they had been.</p><p>And while <em>The Daily Prophet</em> may have been blatantly biased, the copious details she had drawn from articles within it were far better than nothing at all.</p><p>At 22:37 on Halloween night, it was safe to assume that the library was wholly empty of students or staff. Still, she carefully perused the Marauders' Map for Filch and Mrs. Norris once she reached the Archives. From the volume of refreshments she'd seen Filch imbibe at the Halloween Feast — always adding a hearty splash of liquid from a flask he'd subtly pull from his sleeve after peering surreptitiously around the Great Hall in a decidedly unsubtle fashion — she assumed he wouldn't present any issues tonight.</p><p>Indeed, the Map confirmed he and Mrs. Norris seemed to be holed up in his quarters near the dungeons. Once she was satisfied that no one was anywhere near the library except Pomona Sprout, who must have had that night's patrol and who was heading away and toward the outer doors of the castle, Hermione willingly sank into one of three stiff observation chairs clustered around a stark table inside the otherwise empty room.</p><p>Metal clanged against her leg. Subconsciously, she moved her hand over the sword. For a moment, she considered removing it from her side, but quickly decided against it — after what had just happened, in a room with only one exit, and therefore one escape route, she had to admit she felt more comfortable with it on her person, even if it was a fake.</p><p>Finally assured that she was entirely alone, Hermione inhaled a deep, relieved breath, never more grateful for the solitude. She nearly choked on the overpowering stench that accompanied the breath, and with a quick freshening charm, she purged the smell of smoke and whatever else had thickened the air at the Haunt that was now clinging to her clothing and hair.</p><p>Then she sighed heavily, setting the map beside her on the table.</p><p>Her hands were trembling faintly.</p><p>Briefly, she closed her eyes and dropped her head into her hands, trying not to think about the potential consequences of what had just happened between her and Ginevra, and what they would mean for how she would have to carry out her daily life at Hogwarts. Great Godric, on top of everything else, <em>that</em> was just what she needed: the unstable witch to have some ludicrous and possibly murderous social vendetta against her.</p><p>But she'd had absolutely no other way of extracting herself from that situation, Hermione rationalized. Yes, perhaps she shouldn't have continued to goad the situation halfway through, but Ginevra had made her <em>so</em> angry... so angry…</p><p>Because of Draco.</p><p>Before she could stop herself, her mind darted to the blond Slytherin, desperately hoping that he and his father were faring far better now than they had been after the last report she'd received from Harry.</p><p>Guilt at her own selfishness again wrenched at her stomach, try as she had many times over the past several days to force away the sensation. Yes, she'd been extremely busy, but she was also well aware she had been staying away from the Chamber for another reason - avoidance.</p><p>During the time he probably needed her friendship the most.</p><p>At the very thought of it, something panged deep in her chest.</p><p>Over the past several weeks, she had finally let herself admit she cared about him, about Pansy, even about Harry, and the conservatives' struggle for their freedom and very existence.</p><p>The problem with Draco was that she cared<em> too much.</em></p><p>In the very brief time this week she'd allowed herself to divert energy to thinking about her feelings, she decided she didn't fancy him - she hated that word for its superficiality. No, in a startlingly short period of time, she had come to care about Draco deeply, like Harry and Ron, yes, but also very... differently. Different in ways she'd never experienced or fully understood. She didn't care to count the number of times she realized she wanted to talk to him that week, about his father, about the stupid Haunt and the complex and oftentimes elusive history of this Universe, about anything, about everything...</p><p>But she couldn't. She couldn't afford the distraction it would pose from essential tasks that literally required all the energy she possessed: of embodying My and all the inane social activities that required, avoiding suspicion at all costs, protecting (and in many cases wrangling in) Peia, trying to understand the frustratingly vague prophecies and how they could - according to Firenze, at least - possibly link to her, and between it all, every now and then, though she had begun to focus on it less and less, continue to search for a potential path to the beloved Universe from which she'd come, in case it all went wrong here.</p><p>No, her deeper feelings for Draco, like Ginevra's mindless grudge, were something with which she desperately could not afford to continually have to contend. Far, far greater things were at stake - like his, Pansy's, hers, the conservatives' very<em> lives.</em></p><p>With a heavy sigh, she again forced her focus away from Draco and back to Ginevra. She genuinely didn't understand why Ginevra continually insisted on going to battle with her; neither the redhead nor her family had ever come out on top.</p><p><em>Perhaps that's why she wants to duel you so badly, </em>she thought. <em>That's one fight she's confident she can win. </em></p><p>In fact, Hermione was so concerned about the potential threat Ginevra posed that on the walk here she had seriously contemplated contacting <em>Lily Evans</em> to help her deal with the problem; no doubt the proud Muggle-born would be less than thrilled an Old-Blood and a Weasley had it in for a member of her family, even if she was adopted.</p><p>She noticed then that her hands had stopped shaking, thank Merlin. Taking a small, steadying breath, she turned her attention to the empowering research she'd been conducting all week. For her, the night was still young, and she hoped that by the end of it she would have as complete a picture as the <em>Prophet</em> could paint of some of Universe B's key players.</p><p>By only the light of the tip of her wand, she turned behind her, fiddling with the sleek, Muggle-like projector suspended near her shoulder until it pointed at the slab of blank wall directly to the righthand side of the door. If, in the extremely small chance that anyone managed to come close enough to the room's entrance without her awareness, that location would give her just the time she needed to change her actions to something markedly less suspicion-inducing, and then sneak away under the cover of her Invisibility Cloak, leaving them to assume that someone had simply forgotten to shut down the projector.</p><p>Once satisfied, she faced forward again and uttered now-memorized instructions she'd found pasted on the projector.</p><p>Immediately, faintly glowing, vividly sharp 3-D images the height of the wall sprang to life in front of her. Six days earlier, Hermione had been astonished to find this single machine in the place of the hundreds of dusty newspapers, journals and diaries from as far back as 1543 that in Universe A had filled this archive room and several more running up the turret above it.</p><p>Say what anyone would about progress — and in this world, considering what was being done with House-Wizards, it wasn't much — Hermione deeply missed the smell of leather and the feel of musty books, papers and tomes beneath her fingers.</p><p>She took one last glance at the open Marauder' Map before she resumed her search. Afraid that erecting any shield or alarm charms might be too obvious in such a public place, she had already tinkered with the Map's framework so it would flash red and vibrate if anyone came within 20 metres of her. Her ears were still ringing slightly from the pounding music at the Haunt, and she didn't think she could fully trust them to alert her of someone's approach.</p><p>With a few flicks of her wand, she navigated through to the <em>Daily Prophet</em> archives. Quickly, she flipped through the many articles she had read already, starting with the earliest:</p><p>-.-</p><p>
  <strong>FOR FIRST TIME IN ALMOST TWO CENTURIES: "WE WANT CHANGE"</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>As world war drags on with more wizard lives lost in the cross-fire, increasingly unpopular Grindelwald stands by decision to "keep out of Muggle business"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>AFTER FAMILY TRAGICALLY KILLED IN SPRING BLITZ, HOGWARTS PRODIGY, 16, PARTNERS WITH JUNIOR PROFESSOR SINISTRA LOWE TO DEVELOP CUTTING-EDGE MISSILE SHIELD SPELL, WINS INTERNATIONAL CONFEDERATION OF WIZARDS AWARD </strong>
</p><p><em>Grindelwald Chief Counsel and Foreign Affairs Minister Albus Dumbledore says: "As young Mr. Riddle has shown, and as facilitated by Ms. Lowe's excellent instruction, it is truly our exploration and innovation that will position Britain as </em>the<em> pioneer of new and beneficial magical models amongst our peers."</em></p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>DUMBLEDORE STEPS DOWN AS MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS; MUGGLE-BORN ADMINISTRATORS AND STAFF FOLLOW SUIT</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Shocking move confirms intent to assist Muggles; says Dumbledore: "We must stand by our non-magical allies to end this threat to Muggles and wizards alike."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>DUMBLEDORE OUSTS GRINDELWALD IN SPECTACULAR DUEL; EMERGING GOVERNMENT STATES CONSERVATIVE GRINDELWALD SUPPORTERS POSE "MINIMAL ISSUE" IN ONGOING LEADERSHIP TURNOVER</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>After World War, surrounding nations hail transition to Sovereignty as "surprisingly peaceful"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>DUMBLEDORE: "THE TIME TO INTEGRATE OUR TWO WORLDS IS NOW!"</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Record crowds gather to greet new "Sovereign," applaud forthcoming era of progress, innovation and open Muggle partnership</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p><strong>SOVEREIGN RECOUNTS ENCOUNTERS WITH LEADING MUGGLE INVENTORS ON 50</strong> <strong>TH</strong> <strong> ANNIVERSARY OF WORLD FAIR "GRAND TOUR"</strong></p><p>
  <em>On inspiration from Zeppelin, Tesla, Fessenden, Edison and more, and why Muggle-Magical creations are the way of the future</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>WIZARDGAMNOT APPROVES MAGICAL INTEGRATION ACT, HAILS IT "PIONEERING"</strong>
</p><p><em>Sovereign explains: "It is our birthright to explore, understand and harness every aspect of our magical nature — light, dark and everything in between. The nation that does this and does it well will possess a depth of control and influence to which no other country can compare.</em>"</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>SOCIETY PAGES: ANNOUNCING THE UNION OF MR. TOM M. RIDDLE, 22, to SINISTRA L. LOWE, 26</strong>
</p><p>Beneath the announcement was an image of an even younger, strikingly handsome Tom Riddle alongside a woman with long, golden blond hair pulled partially from her face in a thick, beautiful braid. She had bright, intelligent eyes and a vibrant smile - his former Hogwarts teacher, an Arithmancy and Alchemy expert with a passion for dissecting spells and mentoring others.</p><p>At this, Hermione couldn't help but pause, shaking her head. The ironic parallel between this world and her own was almost too great: In Universe A, Sinistra Lowe had been a staunch supporter of Pureblood supremacy, and had written a number of particularly loathsome and frightening books on the subject. It had been rumoured Lord Voldemort had found a number of them particularly enabling, and had used the manifestos within them to build the platform of his anti-Muggle stance.</p><p>After a moment, Hermione continued flicking through articles, faster now:</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>"</strong>
  <strong>RABBLE-ROUSING" HOGWARTS PROFESSOR RELEASED FROM EMPLOYMENT</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Old-Blood Sinistra Lowe "refused" to teach students newly revised Hogwarts curriculum that includes more balanced view of Light and Dark magic — "Always making trouble," says colleagues</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>RISING STAR RIDDLE APPOINTED MINISTER OF MYSTERIES</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>At 30, "brilliant" Mixed-Blood becomes youngest Department of Mystery Minister since 1536</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wife Lowe remains outspoken critic of Sovereign policies, calling them "deplorable, dangerous and discriminatory" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sovereign: "Minister Riddle's personal life is his own business; I have no doubt of his full support of my government and am confident the only person more capable of his new position is myself."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>MLE FILES: PROTESTORS ARRESTED</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Small but vocal number of "conservative rights activists" disrupt daily flow outside Phoenix with protests, insurrectionist speech; demand trailblazing Magical Integration Act be repealed</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instigator Lowe at forefront</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p><strong>"</strong><strong>THE FINAL STRAW": </strong> <strong>EXECUTION SCHEDULED FOR </strong><strong>OLD-BLOOD EXTREMIST SINISTRA LOWE </strong></p><p>
  <em>Historically moderate Riddle appeals sentence; Wizengamot decision holds firm</em>
</p><p>
  <em>ACME Director Nostradamus Trelawney: "There is no other option. This Old-Blood is preaching apostasy, and she is determined to take the rest of the country down with her unless she is stopped."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>RIDDLE STEPS DOWN AS MINISTER OF MYSTERIES; INSTATED AS HOGWARTS INSTRUCTOR</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Replaces recently dismissed Old-Blood Horace Slughorn as Head of Slytherin House </em>
</p><p>
  <em>In fallout of widely reviled Sinistra Lowe's execution, the Sovereign stands by former Minister: "We cannot always help the sometimes tragic paths our loved ones choose. I am confident that former Minister Riddle is not his spouse, nor does he share her flawed beliefs."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>MLE FILES: MUGGLE-BORN WITCH RESCUED FROM MUGGLE CRIME SCENE</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Lily Evans-Lowry, 10, was pulled yesterday from the scene of a Muggle triple homicide investigation and placed with a Mixed-Blood foster family. Initial reports say child's step-father, Cain Lowry, 53, killed mother Salome Evans-Lowry, 33, and then himself in drunken rage </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lowry's son Rupert, 17, was also found deceased in upstairs bedroom </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Despite stress of tragedy, girl shows "admirable lucidity and very promising magical talent"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>SUCCESS IN "RETIREMENT": "YOUTHFUL" FORMER MINISTER TOM RIDDLE WINS HOGWARTS MENTORING AND TEACHING AWARD SEVEN YEARS RUNNING</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Female students debate if success due to intelligence or appearance; amused Riddle asserts it's probably both</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Today's Laughs Column: MAD MALFOY AT IT AGAIN</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Compared to previous magical epochs, Sovereignty practices "careening toward instability," claims self-declared conservative and (understandably) largely discredited historian Lucius Malfoy: "Never before in Britain have the Dark Arts been introduced so systematically throughout every aspect of society. The effects of such practices on the minds of young children especially have never been thoroughly studied, though if the Italian Dark Age from 1434 − 1542 is any indication, we could be heading toward complete and utter disaster." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>In other news, the Phoenix announced this morning the development of a Free Trade Agreement around the Sovereignty's integrated Magical/Muggle goods with major European and North American markets. 'Disaster?' To Mad Malfoy, we say instead: Poppycock! Take your prosophobic hogwash and stuff it elsewhere than our ears.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-<br/>
</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>BREAKING NEWS: BETRAYAL!</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Senior Phoenix Elite discover Hogwarts Headmaster and Former Minister of Mysteries Tom Riddle "has been incubating conservative insurgents for years"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Says Muggle-born Lily Evans, MLE Inspector and former Hogwarts Head Girl: "He always favored Old-Bloods, the conservatives especially. We all saw it, but we couldn't say anything — he was Headmaster, after all." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sovereign "heartbroken" over treachery after years of friendship: "If deceit of this magnitude reveals the heart of a man, then the fabric of Tom Riddle's being is woven with lies. This breach of our collective trust will not go unpunished."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>LIST OF RADICAL DISSENTERS GROWS</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Over 20 "Old-Blood" families implemented in conservative conspiracy thus far</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>Not all Old-Bloods," howls Arthur Weasley, Minister, Department of Muggle-Magical Technological Integration</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-.-</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>SOCIETY PAGES: ANNOUNCING THE UNION OF MR. JAMES POTTER, 19, to LILY EVANS, 19</strong>
</p><p>This announcement was one Hermione had not seen yet, and she leaned forward, carefully studying the image of James Potter and Lily Evans on their wedding day. Almost immediately, she noticed James looked exhausted. He stood stiffly, his lips pressed tautly together, until Lily leaned over, a perfect, wide smile on her face, and muttered something to him; instantly, a smile jumped to his face but not quite his eyes, and he cheerfully waved to onlookers; then the image looped again.</p><p>After a few moments, she sat back, her brow furrowed at the mystery that was Harry's parents. She had read about how James had died, executed, five and a half years later for a murder he could not remember committing, amidst a trove of conspiracy theories, one of which postulated it was actually Lily herself who was somehow behind it.</p><p>Knowing Lily, Hermione didn't doubt that could very well be true, and the subsequent sympathy she'd felt for Harry had made her try to be a bit more patient with him, which had better facilitated the reluctant team they'd had to form as the only two conservative spies still free to roam "above ground," as she'd begun to think of their position outside the Chamber.</p><p>Her attention shifted back to the wedding announcement, and James' curious behavior. What would cause anyone to look so displeased about his own—</p><p>"Well, well, well."</p><p>Her heart nearly exploded from her chest; abruptly, her Invisibility Cloak was ripped from her shoulders, and she gasped in shock.</p><p>A shadow moved in the Archive room's arched stone entrance.</p><p>"What <em>do </em>we have here?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ohhhh man. EXCITEMENT next chapter, everyone! Who do you think has come across her? All theories accepted!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Ms. Granger, Draw Your Wand: Part II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Canada Day. Here's the next chapter a few days early! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione recognised the voice immediately.</p><p>She had practiced her reaction to this scenario enough times that within a breath, she'd subtly flipped the Archive to her "safety" page and tapped her fingers against the Marauders' Map to close it. Calmly, she leaned back in her chair, smiling guilelessly at Severus Snape's unmistakable dark form. "Oh, Professor!" she simpered with a small giggle, placing a hand over her heart. "You startled me!"</p><p>Snape stepped into the room, even at so late an hour clad as impeccably as ever in dark but tasteful clothes. "Once again, Ms. Evans, your ability to utter the obvious astounds," he said sarcastically. Then he paused theatrically, looking confused. "But what's this? Ms. Allergic-to-Books in the <em>library</em> on so hallowed an eve? Doth the Queen of the castle not have unsanctioned festivities to which she must attend? What is it that could possibly be holding her interest so inescapably hostage?"</p><p>As he looked toward the projected image, Hermione's mind raced. As far as she knew, Snape didn't have professor patrol that night, but perhaps Sprout had asked him to replace her. It didn't explain how he'd gotten past the Marauders Map — she cast a sidelong glance to her right; there it sat, still uselessly motionless and unflashing on the table beside her — but there was the remote chance he could have been suspicious a student with an Invisibility Cloak was messing about with the projector. She fervently hoped this was the case.</p><p>She didn't have time to deduce anything beyond that — Snape turned back toward her, his eyes intrigued; she blinked up at him innocently. "International Wizarding Journal of Fashion Design and Technology, July 1947," he proclaimed dramatically. "Oooo. What <em>stimulating</em> material for your Saturday night."</p><p>Hermione glared at him. "Excuse me, I'm actually making an effort to be studious, and you're mocking me? Isn't that against some grand professor code of ethics?"</p><p>"If there were a 'grand' code of ethics — which, by the way, there isn't — I can guarantee you I would have never signed it." Snape clasped his hands behind his back, surveying her hawkishly. "Now, let's see… the sheer amount of makeup you're wearing hints at your usual intentions to seduce as many men as possible in as little time as possible; however, your costume is shockingly modest and you're clearly skivving off from the little fête I'm not supposed to know about to conduct 'fashion research.'" He held up his fingers in quotes around these words, which didn't make Hermione feel particularly comfortable. Then he cocked his head at her. "Who are you and what have you done with My Evans?"</p><p>Despite the content of the question, it held the sardonically droll edge of humor Snape normally wielded, and that reassured her. She could absolutely pull this off. Though being in the library late on a party night might be a bit out of character, there was nothing incriminating he could extract from this; nothing.</p><p>"Not that it's any of your business, but if you must know, I'm planning to start my own clothing line once I graduate," she informed him brusquely.</p><p>His eyebrows raised. "Oh, to be young and fickle," he said, his voice now definitely sarcastic. "I think it was — oh, only this August, wasn't it? — that you told Lily and me your lifelong ambition was to begin a reality show with Sirius Black." At this name, his lips curled briefly. "And then to eliminate Black. A move of which I heartily approved."</p><p>Her heart suddenly started beating faster.</p><p>
  <em>Bugger it all.</em>
</p><p>In this universe, Snape was Harry's<em> godfather.</em> Yes, that fact had sunk in when she'd first heard it, but amidst all the planning and hiding, what hadn't had time to sink in were the assumptions that should have accompanied it — such as Snape being on a more intimate basis with My as well, having likely visited the Potter-now-Evans Estate during summers to see Harry.</p><p>His dark eyes probed hers. "But it looks like that must have… slipped your mind."</p><p>For as dismissively as he threw out the phrase, Hermione suddenly detected a calculating undertone that set all her senses on edge and an uneasy curl of discomfort through in her gut. She didn't fully understand it, but in her time here she had come to trust it as much as — if not, on occasion, more than— her logic.</p><p>She had to get herself - or him - out of there.</p><p>"I'm an Elite," she informed him haughtily, as if he needed the reminder. "I'm allowed to have multiple ambitions."</p><p>Snape rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, while all we mere peasants must wallow in our singular dreams."</p><p>Hermione blew out a rudely loud breath of air. "Professor Snape, I realize my mother finds you… entertaining, but I'd simply like to finish this and get on with the much more important 'unsanctioned festivities' even you know I have tonight. So if you don't mind…" She trailed off, raising her eyebrows pointedly, and when he didn't move, she pointedly waved him away dismissively.</p><p>He put a hand over his heart. "Oh, Ms. Evans, you wound me!" Instead, he took a step toward her, a shrewd expression in his eyes. "While your hastiness to get rid of me is ever so obvious, I am just the slightest bit curious. If it <em>is</em> just 'innocent research' you're doing, why <em>ever</em> would you feel the need to do so—" he held up her Invisibility Cloak, "under the cover of this?"</p><p>Instantly, thirty alarms went off in her head. The utterly confident, almost mocking gleam in his eye told her he was <em>playing</em> with her. Had Snape seen something the night of Dumbledore's visit after all? Or before then? But why would he wait until now to confront her about it? And why would he do it personally, rather than simply turn her in to the authorities?</p><p>Unless the authorities were waiting nearby…</p><p>She could only see two options: Play along at whatever game he was playing, which only might give her away… or wandlessly disarm him, which would surely give her away.</p><p>"Unless we're talking about the latest edition of <em>Witches' Weekly</em>, no research is innocent when you're me; I would think you'd know that by now," she retorted snottily. "I do have a reputation to maintain, you know."</p><p>"Oh, yes, your village idiot act," Snape said with an amused smile. "Yes, I don't doubt that's one reputation you're quite eager to uphold." He was slowly moving closer, and very subtly, Hermione reached her fingers inward toward the dueling bracer's catch at her palm that would propel her wand from storage along her forearm and into her hand. He leaned closer to her face, staring directly into her eyes, his expression unreadable. "Heaven forbid anyone discover that you're… something else entirely."</p><p>Hermione returned his gaze, deliberately keeping her mind free of thoughts except her vapid life as Hogwarts' Queen Bee as she felt him search through it with Legilimency. <em>No,</em> she thought, forcing conviction through her brain. She had done nothing. She had nothing to hide. She was just a student here. Just an innocent student…</p><p>The blood pounding through her temples began to calm as she sank into the blameless ideas of which she was trying to persuade him.</p><p>
  <em>Five... four... three... two...</em>
</p><p>She released her wand and jumped to her feet.</p><p>"You disgusting man!" she shrilled, shoving him away from her. "I don't know what you're playing at, but you're standing far too close and you're staring and — and it's making me extremely uncomfortable!" She waved her wand at him as she spoke, the tip of it pulsing forward which each accentuation. "This kind of behavior is <em>unacceptable</em>, even for you! I'll report you to McGonagall if you don't stop it!"</p><p>Snape blinked rapidly, momentarily thrown off by her sudden attack, but then he quickly regained his posture, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Oh, you <em>are</em> good. No, on the contrary, Ms. Evans, I'd say that my behavior all depends on how you define 'unacceptable.'"</p><p>Hermione's lips parted in astonishment at his unconcerned reply. "I'd say your lecherous advances fall well within that realm!"</p><p>He actually laughed. "Lecherous advances? Hardly. Though I am <em>exceptionally</em> impressed with the fleetness of your fabrication and the remarkable expansion of your vocabulary." He took a step closer, idly but pointedly drawing his wand and lazily tapping it against his left palm. "No, Ms. Evans, I believe 'unacceptable' much more aptly defines your own behavior over the past few months."</p><p>For a moment, her heart stopped, then began pounding frenetically.</p><p>Great Godric.</p><p>He did know something.</p><p><em>Peruvian Instant Darkness Power, </em>she decided definitively. That would give her the advantage she might need to stun and Obliviate him, and then regroup with Riddle for next steps. Even if she made it out the door and out of this mess unscathed, even if Snape happened to be acting alone in his suspicions, she couldn't take the risk of leaving him to his own devices given the damning double entendres he'd begun dropping like bombs in the past five minutes.</p><p>"I haven't the slightest idea of what you're insinuating, but whatever it is, I don't like it and find it insulting," she spat at him. Casually, she dropped her hand to her pocket where she normally kept the shrunken bag of Wheezes, her pulse racing now with the same concern she'd felt facing down Ginevra: It had been months since she'd truly dueled for her life. Could she really face Severus Snape successfully?</p><p>Her fingers came up empty, and her chest suddenly lurched.</p><p>
  <em>Her bag of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was still with Harry.</em>
</p><p>Her breathing fought to be panicked, which was making it excessively difficult to appear to be calm. <em>Breathe through your nose; breathe through your nose…</em></p><p>Snape gave her an expression of utmost confusion. "So… blowing up the Hangar… hiding from the Sovereign with your little boy toy… deliberately destroying Lily's ladybug… those wouldn't happen to ring any bells in that very cleverly Occlumens-ed mind of yours, would they?"</p><p>
  <em>Holy hell.</em>
</p><p>Hermione forced a wave of giggles; the noise was more shrill than she would have liked. "The Sovereign, at Hogwarts? Is this some kind of joke?"</p><p>From the sudden, curious intent with which he studied her, she felt like she had turned into a fascinating new strain of Dragon's Bane. "Pretending to be this stupid every day must be exhausting. Is it exhausting?"</p><p>This time, she let her mouth fall open, and gave him the most offended of expressions, clutching her wand and readying herself to do what was quickly becoming her only option: an open duel with no Wheezes to support her. "How <em>dare</em> you call me—!"</p><p>
  <em>Click.</em>
</p><p>Hermione froze.</p><p>
  <em>Click… Click… Click… Click…</em>
</p><p>It was the unmistakable sound of heeled boots coming up the stone stairs.</p><p>Panic exploded through her chest, shooting out her hands in a jerky spasm; she clenched them desperately to hide their shaking. She wanted to run, but she couldn't. Running would give everything away.</p><p>My wouldn't run… she'd be <em>furious. </em></p><p>Her eyes shot daggers at Snape. "You called my <em>mother?"</em> she hissed angrily, channeling the raw fear coursing through her blood into fury.</p><p>He had taken a few steps away from her, a wide smirk curling across his face. "No need to <em>call</em> her. She's been waiting for this. Who do you think asked me to start this little game of surveillance in the first place? She's known there was something off about you since the day you went to bat on her bug. Blame yourself, Ms. Evans — not me."</p><p>Hermione stared at him in shock, forcing herself to breathe evenly, breathe evenly, fighting through the horror and dread clawing through her senses to curl around her every nerve and bone.</p><p>Her world was crumbling around her, and she frantically scrambled to grab hold of an edge before she fell along with it.</p><p>
  <em>Click… Click… Click…</em>
</p><p>She had to keep it together. She <em>had</em> to keep it together. That was the only way she might be able to get out of this alive…</p><p>"Ah." Snape smirked. "That's given you pause, hasn't it? Concerned, Lady Evans?"</p><p>Hermione straightened her shoulders. "Hardly," she scoffed with a thoroughly unconcerned laugh, breathing through her nose and focusing on recent memories of My. <em>Recent memories, recent memories</em>—</p><p>"Hello, daughter."</p><p>
  <em>Oh god!</em>
</p><p>At the sultry, feminine purr, Hermione's heart dropped from her chest.</p><p>
  <em>Breathe, breathe, breathe…</em>
</p><p>Lily Evans stepped into the room, clad all in black, her lips blood red and hair smoothed to perfection. For a moment, she glanced with a thin smile at a smirking Snape, who greeted her with a raised eyebrow. Then she turned and prowled closer to Hermione, her own brow arching slightly. "You've played quite the clever game, My. Even I'm impressed."</p><p><em>No</em>, Hermione thought fiercely — she refused to let this happen. Just because they suspected something didn't mean it was all over. She had never done anything to blatantly give herself away. Not in front of Lily, not in front of Snape…</p><p>Hatefully, Hermione shoved a shaking finger at the smirking face of the latter. "That <em>filthy</em> Mixed-Blood!" she exclaimed. "I don't know what he's been saying, but you can't believe him! He's obviously—"</p><p>"Oh, stop running your mouth; it's over," Lily hissed, approaching her so abruptly she backed Hermione into a chair; Hermione gasped and stumbled, falling hard onto the seat. Lily leaned down until her face was only inches away, her brilliant green eyes boring through Hermione's and into her soul. "Oh, yes. I know who you are and I know where you're from. <em>Hermione</em> Granger."</p><p>
  <em>Please Merlin, no! </em>
</p><p>The terror in her heart had abandoned all stealth. She clutched her wand and the arms of the chair, entrapped in Lily's ruthless gaze.</p><p>"Brightest witch of your age, Light Arts practitioner, animal and <em>human rights</em> sympathizer, confidante of the Chosen One," Lily continued pitilessly. "Oh, your acting was very good. Passable, even, for the short while you had." Her lips curved into a smile. "But it wasn't good enough."</p><p>Sweet Morgana, how could she know <em>everything?!</em> Had Harry betrayed them? What proof did she have? Hermione thought frantically.</p><p>
  <em>No, no, Hermione, calm down, breathe — until you see any proof she has about any of this, you can't give it to her yourself now! </em>
</p><p>She clung to this strategy, and, as My, willingly released very real tears. "Have you both lost your minds?! Who the bloody hell is the 'Chosen One?'" she screeched; meanwhile, her mind raced frantically — she had to destroy Draco and Pansy's leads, which she'd kept on her person in case she needed them to return quickly to the Common Room. "I don't understand what's happening! Why are you doing this to me? He's <em>lying,</em> I tell you!"</p><p>Lily shoved her against the back of the chair so hard it - and she - nearly fell over backward. "Stop your <em>pathetic</em> pretending; it's so obvious now," she snarled, as Hermione whimpered pitifully, sniveling, and gripped her wand, surreptitiously tilting it toward the leads —</p><p>Before she could complete the spell, Lily reached down, physically ripping the wand from her hand. "I don't think so, you incorrigible girl," she chided condescendingly. "Were you really so ignorant to think you could fool the Phoenix forever? There is nothing you can hide from us that we won't find. Nothing." Her smile widened cruelly. "And because of you, your precious little House-Wizard is dead."</p><p>Hermione's heart stopped, then lurched forward erratically.</p><p>Lily's words rang hollowly in her ears.</p><p><strong> <em>Dead. </em> </strong> <em>Dead, dead, dead…</em></p><p>Her head pounded. Had they already gone to the Chamber? Had Riddle been captured? Yes, she could have been lying, but how else would she know <em>all these things?</em> The <em>only</em> person who would have — and could have — given them away was Harry, but how — <em>how</em> could he have done such a thing to Pansy? And — And <em>Draco— </em></p><p>Hot tears burned at her eyes; she wanted to weep, but suddenly, the only thing she had left to fight for was her own survival. Her mind reeled at her one clear, remaining option to possibly escape alive. "Have you all gone insane?" she shrieked, somehow still managing to shove disgust into her words even though her mind was screaming that it couldn't possibly be true. "<em>Precious?</em> I could care less about that filthy<em>—"</em></p><p>"You tiresome girl, your lies are becoming more and more irksome!" Lily viciously struck the side of her face, and Hermione gasped at the sharp pain that exploded from it; for a moment, she was again lying defenseless on the floor in the darkness of Malfoy Manor, screaming as Bellatrix Lestrage tried to torture the truth out of her. "You know as much as I do your emotional weakness for that boy is exactly what got you into this mess! Compromising your <em>cover</em> to save his life, over and over and <em>over. </em>But the truth's out now." Lily leaned toward Hermione, and purred, <em>"They're all dead</em>."</p><p>Black spots began to dot Hermione's vision as she fought to breathe, the sound of the ocean roaring distantly in her ears; if Lily didn't kill her, she would surely die from stress alone. An icy sweat soaked her skin; her hands shook violently as she slowly, carefully slipped her left hand toward the right side of her waist. <em>"Stop it!</em> Just stop it!" she screamed, hiccupping once over her tears. "You've gone mad! <em>Who's dead? </em>I don't understand what you're saying!"</p><p>"Oh, I think you do." Lily drew her wand, her lips turning upward malevolently. "And now it's time you paid for it."</p><p>Hermione took several rapid breaths.</p><p>It was time.</p><p>With a sharp ring of metal scraping metal, she swiftly drew the fake - but very real - sword of Gryffindor and with both hands shoved it hard into Lily's stomach.</p><p>Lily gasped sharply, her eyes going wide. Her head rolled downward, staring at the hilt of the blade protruding from her stomach in shock…</p><p>And then she looked back at Hermione and <em>smiled.</em> In the blink of an eye, she'd swooped down, pressing her wand hard against Hermione's neck, the sword still impaled through her abdomen.</p><p>"Valiant attempt, but it's too late for you and your filthy insurrectionist conspirators. You have <em>failed on all accounts</em>, Hermione Granger<em>,"</em> she purred throatily.<em> "</em>And now, you will <em>never</em> get back to your own world."</p><p>Failed.</p><p>Hermione's eyes widened.</p><p>
  <em>Failed.</em>
</p><p>With that small word, everything changed.</p><p>With a feral yell, she shoved Lily's wand away from her neck, wrenched her own wand from the first Viceroy's other hand and immediately pointed it at the woman's surprised face. <em>"Riddikulus!" </em></p><p>
  <em>Crack!</em>
</p><p>Immediately, Lily's towering form shrank into a bobble head caricature of herself the size of a small doll, her oversized red lips flapping without any audible sound. The sword clattered, bloodless, to the otherwise empty floor beside it where a very human-looking Lily Evans had stood in all her glory only a second before.</p><p>Hermione choked in a shallow breath and then released a strangled laugh, blinking numbly at the figurine in disbelief.</p><p>It was a boggart.</p><p>She slumped in relief.</p><p>Thank Merlin and all the angels, it was a <em>boggart— </em></p><p>The reason for the boggart's very presence suddenly cut through the adrenaline raging through her veins.</p><p>
  <em>Snape. </em>
</p><p>Quick as a Snitch, she sat up straight and swiveled in the chair toward the Potions instructor… but his wand was already pointed straight at her. "Expelliarmus," he said, almost sounding bored, catching her wand as it was yanked from her hands. He tutted at her. "You can't hide your truth from a boggart, Lady Evans." He smirked. "Or should I say… Hermione Granger?"</p><p>With a flick of his wand, Hermione was flung flat against the back of the chair; she gasped as the air was knocked from her lungs.</p><p><em>"</em><em>Incarcerous," </em>he uttered.</p><p>Instantly, ropes materialized from thin air, binding her tightly to the arms and legs of the chair. Adrenaline again shot through her system like a drug, and she spluttered and desperately tried to yank herself free, but to no avail — the ropes held tight. Her mind raced. Could boggart-procured evidence really be considered conclusive? she wondered, furiously thinking through several Wizengamot cases involving them she'd read in History of Magic.</p><p>Hope lurched through her.</p><p>It couldn't, she realized, swiftly recalling the verdict of Eckerbee v. MacGilligan, 1864. Not when the room was shared by two or more persons — which could run the chance of confusing the boggart, and, therefore,<em> tainting the evidence.</em> Though the law might have changed in this world, that knowledge still helped to calm her enough to regain some control over her own panic. Perhaps Lily <em>had</em> sent Snape, but he was clearly acting alone now. Her friends were alive, she hadn't been discovered — well, except for Snape — and with that in mind, Hermione was overcome with a singular purpose:</p><p>Escape Severus Snape, and Obliviate the bloody hell out of him.</p><p>More lives than hers depended on it.</p><p>Hermione looked up at him, her eyes blazing. <em>"How — dare — you,"</em> she hissed dangerously, her voice, between Hermione and My, shaking with equal amounts of fear and fury. "You <em>disgusting</em> Mixed-Blood! Attacking an Elite? First with a — a <em>psychotic creature, </em>and now by - by taking me hostage to fulfill some - some sick and twisted need?" Her voice shrilly rose.<em> "</em>There are laws against this! And I will see to it that you are <em>burned."</em></p><p>Snape's eyebrows flew up in amusement. "Ms. Granger, perhaps you may be a tad bit inexperienced, but this is how an interrogation works: I do the threatening. You don't. I ask the questions. You don't. And if you choose not to answer, well…" he smirked and pulled a small, dark bottle of liquid from his pocket. "I have this <em>very</em> useful potion that can be of some assistance."</p><p>He strolled closer, peering far too deeply into her eyes as he did, and Hermione forced herself to breathe, breathe, <em>breathe</em> evenly and stare scornfully at his face and <em>not think </em>about anything other than the story that he was lying, that he was mad, that she was completely innocent in all of this and that he was going to see Azkaban for it.</p><p>"If my mother suspects me of something, which is ridiculous, why would she have you interrogate me?" she sneered, derogatorily slurring the word 'you.' Inside, she took a breath, steading herself. In Universe A, she'd never practiced the wandless magic on which her plan depended, and certainly not in a situation like this, but she had much more wandless experience here, and trying her damnedest was far better than whatever <em>Snape</em> had planned for her. "Surely she would send someone with a bit more…" she studied him disparagingly, <em>"standing."</em></p><p><em>Finite incantatum! </em>she thought furiously, sending out her magic through her hands toward the ropes binding her.</p><p>Nothing happened.</p><p>
  <em>Damn it!</em>
</p><p>"Someone with more standing than me? Ha!" Snape let out a loud and very staged laugh, and she jumped slightly, frantic he'd deduced her objective. Instead, he continued, "You seem to have forgotten, I've known your - adopted - mother for far longer than anyone else has. We were frolicking on playgrounds together decades before you were but a twinkle in your birth mother's eye. No, Lily Evans feels no loyalty to you, Ms. Granger — and she's had me watch your very interesting dance for weeks."</p><p>Alright, Hermione thought logically, the Finite spell was too difficult to break through the complicated incarceration charm wandlessly. What she needed was a simpler spell…</p><p>
  <em>And her wand.</em>
</p><p>"Oh, Professor Snape," she said sweetly, trying to distract him verbally while regrouping her magic. "I think I have a very simple explanation for all of this."</p><p>He raised his eyebrows, looking thoroughly intrigued and slightly entertained. "Do you now?"</p><p>Hermione shook her head, forcing a concerned expression to her face. "It's the potions. You've been inhaling far too many noxious fumes. You should see Madam Pomfrey immediately; I'm certain she can help with that." She smiled encouragingly. "In fact, if you let me go, we can go find her together."</p><p>He chuckled uncontrollably. "You are quite possibly the most amusing thing I've witnessed in months. Unfortunately, I just don't have the time to sit here all night."</p><p>He held up the bottle and approached her, his expression darkening. "I can but only suppose that somewhere in your inter-dimensional travels, you've come across Truth Serum. Why don't we play a little game of Twenty Questions?"</p><p>She took several slow, even breaths, <em>feeling</em> the magic humming through her and directing it forward from the core of her chest to her fingers and toward the wand that had been separated her, sticking partially out of his pocket.</p><p><em>Now!</em> Her mind shouted. <em>Now, now, </em><em><strong>now!</strong></em></p><p>Hermione pulsed forward her fingers and the magic in them. <em>"Accio </em>wands!"</p><p>Simultaneously, both her wand and Snape's zoomed into her open hands with satisfying <em>smacks</em>. Snape's wand careened into the bottle of Veritaserum first; it fell to the ground and shattered. With an angry scowl, Snape physically lunged at her; in a blink, Hermione vanished the ropes around her arms and legs and swiftly raised her wand. <em>"Stupefy!" </em></p><p>He dodged the jet of red light and spun back around, reaching out his hand and clenching his fist in an attempt of the same maneuver she'd done a moment earlier. <em>"Accio </em>wands!" he shouted.</p><p>The spell bounced harmlessly off her shield charm, and Hermione leapt to her feet, pointing both wands at the Potions instructor; her hands were so sweaty she nearly dropped his.<em> "Stupefy!" </em>she shouted again; he hauled a chair in front of him to block the spell, narrowly evading it.</p><p>Without missing a beat, Hermione exclaimed, <em>"Expulso!</em>", and the chair exploded on contact, before Snape could even blink, she'd shouted, "Locomotor mortis!"</p><p>Immediately, his legs locked together. He teetered and grasped the table before turning toward her, his lips pulled back in a snarl. <em>"Accio!" </em></p><p>Hermione easily blocked the spell. <em>"Impedimenta!" </em></p><p>Snape became motionless where he stood.</p><p>She knew the jinx wouldn't last long, and she gripped her wand tightly. "Sorry, I don't quite fancy a trip down truth-revealing lane," she said tautly, concentrating on the spell she would need to cast perfectly for it to remain undetected, particularly by Snape himself. His right eye twitched, nothing more, which momentarily reminded her very strongly of Harry Evans. She took a long, slow breath, then lowered her wand on him. <em>"Oblivi—"</em></p><p>"Now — Now," Snape gasped out, his speech slowed significantly from the effects of the jinx. "I don't — think — Tom Riddle would — like <em>that."</em></p><p>Hermione froze.</p><p>Then she blinked rapidly, shook her head and refocused on the spell. Very likely, he was still lying to her, trying to goad her into betraying anything of what she knew. <em>"Obli—" </em></p><p>"Harry told me you were smarter, and he was right," Snape cut her off, his words coming more easily now as the Impediment Jinx wore off. "You hit the spell right on the mark: Lily Evans would have never had me interrogate you if she really knew of your little escapades. Oh no — she would have come here and ripped out your heart herself, just like you're afraid she will. No… This is an examination, Ms. Granger. And you've passed."</p><p>As Hermione's eyes narrowed in disbelief, he continued more unperturbedly, "Oh yes, his Highness the rogue leader asked me to personally ascertain your ability to withstand interrogation. Which, I'm reluctant to admit, you did rather well — until now, obviously." He raised his eyebrow at her. "I believe that's called premature abandonment of a role. Tends to give you away every time," he lectured patronizingly. "If I had been Sovereignty, you'd be in a Phoenix interrogation cell by now."</p><p>Hermione gaped at him, swiftly processing the many improbable — but, at the same time, not so improbable at all — words that had rapidly fired from his mouth.</p><p>She suddenly felt sick.</p><p>Still, she didn't lower her wand. "Prove it."</p><p>He frowned thoughtfully. "Well, the secondary purpose of all of this was to relay a top secret message." He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. "The rebel council will be meeting tomorrow, ten o'clock, in a place that's <em>very</em> <em>secret." </em>His voice returned to a normal volume. "Does that satisfy your oh so suspicious mind?"</p><p>Hermione had long since lost all concern this man was technically her instructor and supposedly the elder adult; after everything awful that had been done to this world by 'mature' adults, she found that she as Hermione, not My, didn't give one blasted whit anymore about respecting any kind of hierarchy or upholding any kind of social pretense. Her lip curled, demonstrably showing her lack of amusement. "Hardly," she spat, catching his allusion to the Chamber of Secrets. "What's it look like?"</p><p>As if he'd caught a whiff of her thoughts, Snape's face, for the first time she'd known him, became deadly serious. "Like a sanctuary."</p><p>For a split second, Hermione's mind darted back to the first time she'd seen the Chamber of Secrets a week earlier.</p><p><em>"</em> <em>This is the only place we can never be found," Peia had said. "This is Sanctuary." </em></p><p>Quickly, she ran through all the evidence she could produce that Snape would side with the conservatives. Yes, he had shown himself to Dumbledore at the perfect moment, yes, he was Harry's godfather, and yes, he must have been the one who'd provided Harry with a — <em>faulty</em> — memory-restoration potion while leading the Sovereignty to believe it wasn't yet completed…</p><p>But as Snape himself had reminded her continuously over the past fifteen minutes, he and Lily Evans were also best mates.</p><p>Her sharp gaze refocused on him. "Why would you help us?"</p><p>"Irrelevant. The fact is that I am." He smirked slightly. "For a quick little witch, I'm rather pleased you didn't see that one coming. Still, I must say, I am impressed. Skewering the most powerful, terror-inducing witch in all the land? Wandless disarmament, all while in character? Immediate Obliviation? That'd be a bit too much for regular My's shallow brain."</p><p>The side of her face throbbed.</p><p>It was all a bit too much for <em>her</em> brain.</p><p>Right. So Snape was a spy in Universe B. Though she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him and needed to determine exactly why Tom Riddle did, that necessarily wasn't so much a surprise to her - he'd been one in her world, after all, and his reasons in this one were just as opaque.</p><p>But Riddle, the golden leader of the "good" witches and wizards, had asked Snape to interrogate her. Tom Riddle had asked Snape to <em>terrify</em> her, to assault her, to watch as her deepest fears were ripped from her soul and laid bare before her eyes, to make her believe that the few people about whom she cared about most in this godforsaken universe had been taken from her, that her <em>life </em>was about to be taken from her.</p><p>And Snape willingly had.</p><p>And it was clear — he had <em>enjoyed</em> it.</p><p><em>"</em><em>Accio</em> wand!"</p><p>She was so lost in her sickened thoughts that Snape's weapon leapt from her hand before she could shield it. She sharply lifted her own wand again, just in case, but he seemed entirely unconcerned with her, un-locking his legs, shaking each one out slightly before tucking his wand in his belt and brushing the dark hair that had fallen forward into his face out of his eyes.</p><p>"Scaring the living daylights out of students. What an appropriate way to spend Halloween night," he chortled. Then he looked back at her, and gave her a slight nod. "I do hope we're both mature enough to ensure there's… no hard feelings between us."</p><p>The look Hermione gave him was torn between disbelief and disgust; for a moment, she actually wanted to vomit.</p><p>He cleared his throat, for the first time appearing the slightest bit uncomfortable. "Right, well then, I'll just leave you to sit here and seethe. Do try not to do anything stupid. Such as, oh, I don't know… blow up half the school."</p><p>As he swirled toward the door, Hermione finally spoke, her voice unnaturally even. "Leave my Invisibility Cloak."</p><p>Snape stopped, then instantly dropped it to the floor without turning back around.</p><p>"And tell me how you knew I was here and overcame the defenses I set."</p><p>He glanced at her, smirking. "Would you believe me if I told you I'm just that special?"</p><p>She clenched her jaw to keep both herself from verbally lashing out and her tone from overly belaying the sheer amount of emotions raging inside her. "I need to know so I can make bloody well sure it doesn't happen again," she ground out.</p><p>He shrugged. "Don't be <em>too</em> hard on yourself. While I do prefer to claim full credit for my brilliance, in this situation some commendation must go to my godson. He showed me your precise location on his nifty little map. He also switched yours with his during your debacle with the she-Weasel. I understand your version has a <em>verrry</em> tricky extra mechanism that would have made it a bit more difficult for me to catch you… well, so abysmally unawares."</p><p>He again turned to leave, then paused. "Oh — And I was sure to erect a number of Muffling charms before I entered. In case you're worried the rest of the castle might have overheard your ghoulish shrieks." He smirked and swept down into a low bow. "Sweets dreams. <em>Hermione</em> Granger."</p><p>In the deafening silence following his departure, Hermione stared numbly into the darkness straight ahead of her, lit only by the image of the fashion magazine cover.</p><p>Through the plentiful remnants of the adrenaline, the shock and fear that had rocked her, rage began to bubble and slowly build.</p><p>Harry <em>had</em> betrayed her. Even if it was to someone who ultimately wasn't a threat, he had assisted, probably all too cheerfully, in setting up this entire ruse — just when they finally seemed to be working well together. She could imagine the three of them, him and Snape and Riddle, all sitting around the great circular table of the Chamber of Secrets' 'war room,' merrily chortling over butterbeer and planning all the ways they were going to try to rip her psyche apart.</p><p>For a stupid, bloody <em>test.</em></p><p>Her hands began to shake with fury. The very thought of all of it caused her to feel violated to her core.</p><p>Wasn't this supposed to be the good side? Wasn't Riddle supposed to be a leader she could <em>trust?</em> Hermione had given up her <em>entire</em> <em>life</em> in her own, much less buggered up universe - and that was really saying something - to join the fight for equality in this one. She had faced Lily Evans, multiple Sovereignty ministers, McGonagall, Snape, and all the professors without detection. She was risking her very future every single second of every single day to continue the subterfuge, to help Pansy and Draco, and keep Peia — Tom Riddle's<em> own daughter </em>— safe… when she could very well hopped on a plane to Australia and disappeared instead like she had certainly thought about doing once or twice in the days following her arrival. But none of that — none of it — was bloody well <em>good enough </em>for him? Oh no, he needed to go off and conduct his own unspeakably terrifying <em>test?</em></p><p>She sprung to her feet. With a heatedly muttered spell, she turned off the projector, scooped up the the Marauders' Map, the sword, and her Invisibility Cloak, and resolutely marched from the library.</p><p>Since the moment she'd been mysteriously flung into this Universe, she had swallowed her anger against every atrocity she'd witnessed or experienced time and time again until her repressed emotions had literally exploded forth in the heart of the Hangar.</p><p>Now, it was happening again, and this time, she didn't have to pretend she didn't care. That this hadn't affected her. That she wasn't so furious she would have spit fire if she could have. That this hadn't significantly violated her very strained trust in the only two — well, now she supposed it was three — other conservative supporters who had magic and with whom she had no choice but to collaborate.</p><p>Infuriated words were clawing to burst from her mouth, and she knew exactly toward whom she wanted to direct them.</p><p>She'd had Peia teach her the Parseltongue word for "Open" exactly for moments like this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you're reading, please leave a comment! Hearing your reactions and thoughts are 100% inspiring, let me know you're still here, and really and truly mean so much!</p><p>Stay healthy, stay well, and good wishes to everyone during this difficult time globally.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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